


Seasons of Change

by Rochnariel



Series: Sign Your Life Away [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, OC death, Swearing, Violence, army days, plethora of ocs, this is the army days people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-19 11:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochnariel/pseuds/Rochnariel
Summary: Jack may be new to black-ops, but he's determined to prove himself. If he can avoid ruining his whole career that is.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read with no knowledge of Repeat After Me. It's one of the prequels that we have planned.
> 
> This started with a comment by Eledhiel that we should have a short Army Days prequel and give the R76er's something for hanging out with us through the world's slowest slow burn. The first draft was 4,000 words, complete its over 20,000.... I don't write short.
> 
> Warnings for violence, swearing, and character death. This is their time in the Army. It's not all pretty. Also OC's galore considering that I had to create an entire squad.
> 
> Beta'd by Eledhiel.

**March 2007**  
Jack clutches the strap of his pack a little tighter as he winds his way through the base. It really doesn't look much different from every other base he's been on. The stifling humidity and actual trees scattered around are about the only differences from the desert bases he’s been based at for the past few years. That and the fact that this base technically doesn’t exist on paper, he supposes. 

He finds the brick building housing command without issue. It's the largest structure in the place and probably the only one with air conditioning. It sticks out like a sore thumb from the run-down wood structures surrounding it. He’s betting the other brick building he’s seen, the one right off the airstrip, is the hospital. 

He stops for a moment outside the door, trying and failing to take a deep breath in the heat; the thick air getting stuck in his throat instead. He can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and does his best to ignore it. He takes a decisive step forward, despite the dread in the pit of his stomach.

It's just a new assignment. He's done this before. He'll do it again. There's no need to be nervous. Sure, it's the first time he'll be permanently assigned to a black ops unit, but it's not the first time he's been pulled to do the work. He may not have been given much information about what the unit does or why the sudden transfer, but command would not have moved him if they weren’t sure that he could do this. He can do this.

He has no reason to be nervous.

Jack pulls the door to the building open and strides inside. He gets directions to Petras' office from the staffer at the entryway and climbs the stairs to the second floor. 

Jack forces a smile for the assistant sitting outside Petras’ door, who waves him through.

“Sir.” Jack stands at attention in front of a looming wooden desk, happy to hide behind the formalities for a little while.

The stern, grey-haired man in spotlessly clean fatigues at the desk flicks the barest glance up from the paperwork he's reading. “At ease, soldier.” 

Jack relaxes a bit, waiting out the man behind the desk. He flicks his gaze around the office. It's stark, impersonal. No photos, no decorations, not even the medals he’s seen in many other commanding officer’s offices.

Petras goes back to his paperwork without another word and leaves him standing there long enough that Jack has to quell the urge to fidget, which is something he thought basic had drilled out of him years ago.

“Right.” Petras flips the papers he was reading over face down on his desk and finally looks up at Jack. “Morrison, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Jack hikes the strap of his pack further up his shoulder when it starts slipping down.

“You're the Blackwatch team's new medic.” 

It doesn't sound like a question but Jack answers him anyway. “Yes, sir. Along with whatever else they need, from what little I was told.”

“Small unit,” Petras agrees. “Everyone takes multiple roles.” Petra turns his attention to his computer. “Hopefully you'll last longer than the last one. Heard you’re new to this.”

Jack startles briefly, but tries to keep his outward expression collected. He hadn't heard much about this assignment or the team before he was pulled out of Iraq just as his unit came back from a patrol. No explanations, no warning, nothing. Just the team name and where to report.

“I'm not sure what's holding up Major Rodríguez, but he should be here soon,” Petras says shortly before Jack can muster up a reply to his last statement.

“Of course, sir.” Jack glances around the room again, feeling dismissed despite the fact that Petras hasn’t said the actual words. He's about to offer to wait outside when there's a short rap on the door, and the most gorgeous man Jack has ever seen strides into the office.

He's a match for Jack's own height, but broader through the shoulders. He’s dressed in fatigues that are smattered with mud in places and torn in others, obviously having seen hard use recently. His dark hair is buzzed off short. His dark eyes have bags underneath them, like he's been awake for far too many hours or hasn't slept regularly in a long time.

Tall, dark, and handsome, with something else that pulls Jack’s attention. Jack has a type and he knows it, even if he also knows he can't act on it. And this man is it.

Jack forces himself not to stare—but doesn’t avoid a good look, either. He's well practiced at this game, even if the fact this guy ticks all his boxes raises the difficulty level. He’s a damn adult though, not a teenager; he can control himself. He’s been doing it for years.

The man comes to attention in front of Petras’ desk, right next to Jack. 

“Captain Reyes,” Petras says, turning away from his computer. “I was expecting Rodríguez.”

“The Major was held up this morning, sir. We just got back, and he had some things to handle.” Reyes’ voice is deep, with a slight hint of an accent. Jack would guess English either isn’t the man's first language or that he doesn’t spend a lot of time speaking it now. “He sent me to pick up our newest medic.”

Petras looks interested for the first time that Jack can tell all morning. “Anything he needs help with?”

“No, sir. He said to tell you he's got it handled. He’ll be by later for a debrief. He just didn't want to leave Sunshine standing here all morning until he would get free.” Reyes shoots a look at Jack at the tease, coyly assessing. Jack fights to hold himself steady under the man’s dark—and alluring—gaze. This assignment is going to be the death of him one way or another, Jack’s sure.

“All right.” Petras dismisses them with a wave. “I’ll speak with him later then.”

Jack settles his bag more securely on his shoulder and follows Reyes out of the building. The humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as they make their exit. He may have spent the past few years in the desert heat, but he feels like he’s drowning every time he steps outside right now. He’s hoping he’ll adjust quickly.

“What's your name, Sunshine?” Reyes asks with a hint of a smirk. Jack would bet anything that he noticed his reaction to the heat. Reyes himself doesn't look affected at all.

“Morrison,” Jack replies before realizing he might mean his first name. “Uh, Jack.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Gabe.” Gabe leads him through the base to a small cluster of buildings isolated by a large training field.

Jack follows him inside, confirming his suspicion that the building doesn’t have air conditioning. He idly wonders if their last medic melted.

“You'll meet everyone later. They're all asleep.” Gabe pokes his head in an open doorway pointedly and shuts off a light. “Or they should be, assholes.”

Jack hears something smack the back of the door as Gabe closes it. Gabe mutters something under his breath in what sounds like Spanish based on Jack’s rusty high school level Spanish class knowledge, leading Jack further in.

“Rodríguez should be done with everything by dinner, so you’ll meet him then. For now, you're in with me.” Gabe pushes into a room with two bunks and a fan struggling to adequately circulate the air. Jack drops his bag on the bunk on the empty side of the room, trying to ignore the sweat sticking his shirt to his back. The other side has sparse belongings, but still somehow gives the semblance of looking lived in. “We'll get you squared away later. You're supposed to be in with Martínez, but well…” Gabe trails off. “We'll get you moved later on.”

Jack holds in the sigh of relief that wants to escape him, knowing that he won't have to room with this man permanently, along with his questions about why Martínez wasn’t the one to come get him. He's not sure he could keep himself in check, if had to bunk with as well as work with this walking wet dream. And he’s certain any curiosity he shows about Martínez, or what he’s busy with, will be squashed ruthlessly.

Gabe starts stripping down and Jack automatically averts his gaze, trained by years of locker rooms and communal living.

“We just got back in this morning,” Gabe says, slightly muffled by rustling fabric. “I'm grabbing some fucking sleep while I can. Make yourself comfortable. Sleep. Or there's a common room down the hall. Do whatever the hell you want. Just keep it down, Sunshine.” With that, Gabe flops down and turns on his side to face the wall.

Jack allows himself one long look at the expanse of dark skin and defined muscles that comprises the broad back on display before turning away and staging a strategic retreat. He’s not tired, especially not now. And he doesn’t want to unpack into temporary quarters. So Jack grabs a book out of his pack and makes his way to the common room.

He collapses on the couch and looks around to make sure he's alone before groaning. Just his fucking luck. His first permanent assignment since he completed his medical training, and it has to be with the biggest temptation he's seen in a long time.

Jack’s determined not to fuck this up. He crushes any thoughts about the gorgeous Latino man asleep in his room—oh, the irony—and opens his book. It takes effort, but he forces himself to focus on the words on the page and not on the vision of perfection that is Captain Gabriel Reyes.

 

**May 2007**  
Jack grunts with pain as he hits the mat in the training room. Again. Martínez stands over him, holding out a hand. Jack takes it, graciously ignores the smirk, and lets Martínez help him up.

“Are you okay, Sunshine?” Martínez asks, taking a step back after making sure that Jack has his balance.

“Fuck, fine,” Jack grumbles and rolls the shoulder he landed on. “How the hell did you do that?”

“You fight like I speak English,” Martínez says with a softer grin. “Precise and proper. It gives you away every time. You need to learn to fight dirty. You—” he jabs a finger into Jack’s chest—"fight like this is basic. That is going to get you killed.” Martínez tosses Jack a bottle of water. “And I do not want to break in another new roommate.”

Jack snorts and nods at Martínez’s assessment, accepting the criticism. He thought he was doing fine until he met these guys. This squad raises the bar all the way up to elite. Luckily for Jack, Martínez took pity on him and offered to train with him outside of the group exercises. So far, he’s the only one willing to do so. But Jack feels like he might be slowly catching up anyway.

Jack drops back to the mat with his water to take a break, wiping the sweat off his brow. Almost three months in and he’s still not used to humidity here. He feels like he’s melting all the fucking time, much less when he’s doing anything physical. Even though everyone else is starting to layer up in what they claim are the dropping temperatures. Lying assholes.

“Where’d you learn English?” Jack asks, not expecting a real answer. One of the first things Jack’s learned about Blackwatch is that they don’t trust outsiders. He definitely hasn’t gained their trust yet despite three months, a few missions, and technically being one of them. He’s still not sure if the last few medics were casualties of missions or if they were driven out by the squad.

He’s curious though, and Martínez brought it up first. Martínez’s Spanish and Portuguese is ridden with slang and swearing spoken like a native, from the very little Jack has been able to understand. His English is not. So Jack takes a chance and asks.

Martínez looks at him for a long moment. Long enough that Jack thinks he’s not going to answer, as usual. But then Martínez surprises him. He settles onto the mat with his own water and says, “I had a British au pair as a child. She taught me English, proper British English. I spoke only Spanish outside of those lessons as a child and teenager. I had no reason to speak English regularly again until I was already an adult.”

Jack nods. He thinks of the little bits of Spanish he learned in high school and how woefully underprepared that left him for actually speaking or understanding the language in practice. “So you never learned the slang.”

“I did not. I understand a lot of it now,” Martínez gestures around the room and Jack gets that he means here with Blackwatch. “But I still miss some of it. Using it takes more concentration than I feel like giving it when speaking English, unless I need to for a cover. And that does not always go well.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jack says after finishing off his water and burying any questions he has about past missions. “You teach me to stay alive out there, and I’ll try to catch you up on the English slang.”

Martínez grins. “That is a deal I will make, Sunshine, since that is what I was already trying to do. You might be nicer about it than the rest of the assholes here.” Jack almost snorts at the precise pronunciation of ‘assholes.’ Martínez holds out a hand and Jack shakes it. “Shall we keep teaching you how not to die?”

Jack laughs. “Sure. Let’s do this.”

A couple hours later, Jack pleads for mercy. His entire body feels like it is going to bruise, and he’s sure that moving tomorrow will not be fun. Jack lies flat on his back on the mat, trying to catch his breath before crawling to the showers.

“Did you kill Sunshine?” Jack hears Reyes ask, his voice unconcerned. Jack picks his head up long enough to see the man standing in the doorway to their training room. He’s sweaty, shirtless, breathing a little heavily, and way more than Jack can take. He drops his head back down to the mat to avoid the sight.

Jack hears Martínez reply in Spanish, but trying to translate the little bits that he can takes too much brain power right now.

“Sunshine?”

Jack opens his eyes again and sees Reyes standing right over him, face stretched into a grin. Wide, bright, and—is it a trick of the light or is Jack imagining things?—fond. 

“Yeah?” Jack manages to keep his voice steady, but damn this man is trying to kill him.

“Mission planning in an hour. Rodríguez wants you there. You gonna be alive for it?”

“I’ll manage,” Jack replies, pushing himself to his feet. He’s not about to pass on an opportunity to be more involved and prove himself to these guys. “See you there.”

Jack manages what he sincerely hopes is a natural goodbye to Martínez as he leaves the room post haste. He’s not running; he’s retreating before he does something stupid. Like jump Reyes, vision of sweaty perfection that he is. Hopefully, he’s fast enough in the showers to avoid that sight again and test the last of his self-control for the day.

 

**March 2008**  
Jack flips through a Spanish-to-English dictionary, fumbling the pages deliberately. He’s sitting in a little café across the street from what they believe is the headquarters of the Los Muertos gang. According to Reyes, Blackwatch has been keeping tabs on their activity for years, but has never been able to get close enough to find out who the gang heads are in order to take them out.

Jack is their latest attempt.

He’s posing as an American tourist, on vacation from a high pressure sales job. Taking a week from the constraint strain of his job to relax in Dorado. Late nights out in the bars nearby, days spent exploring the city.

And if the bars and cafés that he frequents happen to all be near what they believe are the headquarters and hide-outs of the gang? Well, that’s just a coincidence.

Reyes said that they’ve been trying to get people in close for years. And they’re discovered every single time. No one on the team has been able to figure out how yet.

So now they’re trying a new approach. Jack is so far outside of the norm for a Blackwatch infiltration that he should be unexpected, a safer bet. He also isn’t getting too close. The goal is to use this set up for years to come. They’re playing the long game with Jack.

As much as the team wants more information, to close this case once and for all, they just can’t risk sending someone in closer until they figure out how the gang heads keep identifying their operatives.

So Jack’s the first step in a very long, multi-step plan. And despite the danger, he’s excited about it.

Jack looks up from the dictionary as his waitress approaches, deliberately fumbling a greeting in Spanish. He recognizes her as one of the potential operatives that Major Rodríguez gave him to memorize.

“What can I get you?” the waitress asks in perfect English.

“Oh thank god.” Jack breathes a sigh of relief. “You speak English.” Jack flips his dictionary closed, flashing the waitress what he hopes is a flirty smile. He knows it’s probably not. Flirting with anyone, much less women, is not his strong suit. But the ineptitude should just play further into his cover story.

“Some,” the waitress replies with a smile of her own. It only looks a little forced. “I learned in school.”

Jack nods. “I wish I paid more attention in Spanish class. I remember nothing.” She gives him a polite laughs and Jack picks up the menu, knowing he doesn’t need to push too hard today or even this week. This trip is to lay the foundation for him to return here time and time again, to keep their slim information on the gang up to date. “What do you recommend?”

Jack agrees to her suggestion. It isn’t anything he recognizes, but he’s sure he can eat it so long as it isn’t completely covered in chilies. His cover phone rings as she moves away and Jack answers it not breaking character, well aware of the people surrounding him. And that he can’t trust any of them. “Fletcher.”

“Dick, we need you back immediately,” Rodríguez says through the line. Jack represses a cringe. He knows Reyes and López were screwing with him when they created his cover name.

“I’m on vacation,” Jack protests.

“I understand that and I’m really sorry,” Rodríguez says, sounding anything but. “We’ve had an emergency.”

Jack keeps up his side of the conversation, doing his best to sound disappointed even as he forces down the initial panic. What could have happened that they’re pulling him out? What do they need him on? Was his cover blown?

“We already got your flight changed. You just need to get to the airport in the next hour,” Rodríguez tells him before hanging up. 

Jack huffs and pockets his phone, pulling out his wallet instead as his waitress returns with his meal. Her smile fades as he stands and he flashes her an apologetic look. “Work emergency,” Jack says, fighting to stay in his cover identity even as his mind is racing. “Thanks, but I have to go.” Jack pretends to fumble with the unfamiliar money, deliberately handing over more than his meal cost. “I’m sorry.” 

The waitress pockets the money, not mentioning that Jack handed her far too much. “Hopefully, you can return.”

“I hope so,” Jack says, looking around like he’s making sure he didn’t forget anything. Really, he’s looking to see if there’s any evidence that he’s been made. He takes the dictionary the waitress hands over with what he hopes is a sheepish smile, not seeing anyone or anything suspicious or out of place. “I didn’t get to see much this time.”

Jack turns and walks away. He can feel her gaze on his back as he goes. He hopes his cover is still intact, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

Jack checks out of his hotel as quickly as possible, accepting a partial credit for the rest of his week with a show of gratitude. He gets to the airport with just enough time to board a flight to Mexico City. He stops his fidgeting at the glare from the elderly lady sitting next to him, but his mind is still racing. He’s trying to keep an eye on everyone on the flight, making sure no one’s watching him too closely. He wouldn’t put it past Los Muertos to take him out on the plane, outside of their known territory, if his cover really is blown.

He makes it through his flight unscathed. He holds himself back from rushing off the plane, walking with a feigned calm through the airport. He collects his bags and sees Martínez standing with a group of chauffeurs holding a sign with the name Fletcher on it.

“Sir?” Martínez says as Jack walks up and Jack gives him a nod. “There is a private flight waiting for you at a nearby airport. This way, please.” Martínez’s precise English fits in with the other drivers, his suit pressed and crisp. 

Jack hands over his bag. He knows he’s going to pay for that later, but he can’t help having a little bit of fun with the man. Martínez, ever the professional, takes the bag calmly and without a word.

They make it to a generic car without issue. Martínez stores Jack’s bag in the trunk as Jack slides into the back seat. Martínez pulls away from the airport and drives for some miles before he speaks. “We should be safe to talk now. The car is as soundproof as possible.”

Jack leans forward with a frown. “What the fuck is going on? Was I made?”

“No, you are still good, Dick,” Martínez chuckles and Jack pulls a face. Sunshine is bad enough. But Martínez’s grin evaporates as he says, “Reyes got made in Chile.”

“Fuck.” Jack wracks his brain for the details of Reyes’ assignment. Interrupting a drug and arms shipment along with Medina and López, if he remembers right. “What the hell happened?”

“Reyes was out scouting the area before the shipment came in. Medina called when he missed check in. They found signs of a struggle and tracked him back to a compound.”

“Fuck.” Jack signs leaning back in the seat.

“We are planning a rescue tonight. Fio is waiting to take us there. The rest of the team is already in position,” Martínez adds and pulls into an empty field. Jack recognizes the plane and pilot waiting for them. He gets out and watches Martínez hand over the keys to a man he doesn’t recognize.

Jack spends the flight pouring over the plans with Martínez. They know where Reyes is being held. They have a general idea of the resistance that they’re going to encounter. The plan is to get in and out quietly, hopefully before the dealers even realize Reyes is gone.

Jack’s going in with them because they don’t know what condition Reyes is going to be in when they get to him. Arms dealers aren’t exactly known for being nice to their prisoners.

Rodríguez and the rest of the squad are waiting for them at the landing strip. Jack takes the pack Medina hands him, grateful that he always keeps it stocked. It's a matter of minutes for him to double check that everything is where he left it, instead of wasted time having to scramble for supplies.

He tosses it into the transport and accepts Martínez’s hand up, along with the guns and ammo he passes over once Jack is up.

Jack's cover meant he went to Mexico unarmed, and he's glad that Martínez grabbed his personal guns when they left base. Jack can shoot with anything, but he'd rather not have to. He feels better with weapons he's used to using.

Rodríguez goes over the plan one more time en route making sure everyone is on the same page. Quiet in and out. Medina on lookout from the outside. Martínez disabling the locks and security on the way in. No shots fired unless absolutely necessary. Teams of two searching the complex for Reyes. And whoever finds Reyes alerts Jack, unless he and López are the ones to find him. Or unless there's no need for a medic.

Jack really hopes there's no need. And not because they’re hauling back a dead body.

Their transport car stops a little over a mile away. Everyone but Sanchez, who’s guarding their way out, gets out and starts making their way through the forest like ghosts. 

Medina breaks off first, finding a good spot to watch the likely access points and the guards around the complex.

Jack follows along as silently as he can, cringing at every stick he steps on. He knows this is his biggest weakness now. He picks his footing with care, just about stepping in Rodríguez’s boot prints, while still keeping watch on his surroundings. And despite his efforts, he’s still the loudest one in the group.

They reach the building unseen and Jack holds his breath, watching for guards during the long moments that it takes Martínez to disable the electronic lock.

No alarms go off and the door swings open soundlessly.

They break into pairs without a word. Jack and López find the nearest set of stairs and head down. Reyes is most likely being held in the basement, so that's where they are assigned to search.

The first few rooms are a bust, but they plow through. Jack slips the mechanical lock on the next room. His heart stops when he opens the door and takes in the sight.

Reyes is, at best, semi-conscious on the floor. A puddle of blood surrounds him, the amount of which explains his lack of alertness. He’s also soaking wet and breathing rapidly. There's bruising already showing up on his face. And Jack doesn't doubt there are more injuries hidden by his clothes.

His doesn't see a source of the blood yet, after all. 

Jack jumps right in, trusting López to watch their backs and signal the team while he works. He knows he needs to be quick. It looks like his captors left Reyes not too long ago, but that doesn't mean they won't be back soon.

“Reyes,” Jack calls as loudly as he dares. He checks a pulse and thankfully finds it only a little weak and slightly tachycardic. “Gabe.” He gets no response.

Swearing under his breath, Jack rubs Reyes’ sternum hard. Reyes lifts a weak arm and tries to smack Jack away. “What the fuck?” Reyes slurs.

“Hey, Reyes,” Jack says. He moves aside torn clothing with quick and efficient sweeps, looking for the source of the blood puddle he's kneeling in. He finds a plethora of cuts and bruises. Some of the cuts are deep enough to still be bleeding, but they don’t seem to be the main source.

Reyes’ eyes drift open and land on Jack with an unfocused gaze. “Sunshine?” he says, even more slurred than before.

“Yup,” Jack replies absently. Jackpot. He found the blood source. Reyes’ left leg is a litany of cuts, some deeper than others. One or two might have nicked an artery with the way they’re spurting. Despite the amount of blood on the ground, it couldn’t have happened to long ago or Reyes would be dead. “Here to bust you out,” Jack adds, opening his pack and considering his choices. A tourniquet would work the fastest, but he knows Reyes will most likely not be able to walk on the limb that way. 

Jack wrinkles his nose. He's not sure Reyes is walking out anyway, but having him able to at least help them drag him out would be better than not.

“Sunshine?” López hisses from the door.

“Give me a minute. I gotta stop this bleeding before we move him,” Jack calls back, keeping his voice low.

López nods and resumes his watch without another word.

Jack tears open the quick clot and dumps it on the arterial bleed. He grabs bandaging and dressing and gets the rest covered while the quick clot works. Reyes can't stand to lose any more blood. And they don't need anyone tracking them by the trail.

Reyes doesn't so much as twitch while he works.

Once his wounds are dressed as well as they’re going to be here, Jack shakes Reyes’ shoulder. Bleary eyes blink back at him.

“We gotta get you up,” Jack says, slinging his pack onto his back. 

Reyes doesn't reply, but he doesn't fight Jack either. Once Jack starts pulling him to his feet, Reyes does his best to help. It’s uncoordinated and weak, but it’s a good sign.

López comes up on Reyes’ other side to help, reaching out to grab his arm. Reyes flinches away hard enough that he almost falls back down. Jack steadies him as best he can, but they end up hitting the wall harder than anyone would like.

They pause, listening for any indication that they’ve been found out. Jack holds his breath and expects hostiles to rush in immediately. When silence reigns, he breaths out in relief.

López shoots Jack a concerned look from the other side of the tiny, bloodstained room. Jack shrugs. He has no idea what that was about. Instead of trying to figure it out, Jack just helps get Reyes back on his feet and shoulders more of his weight.

Reyes isn’t a small man by any means, but Jack’s trained for this. He balances both of them and nods López out of the room in front of him.

López stares at them for a moment. But he turns and checks both ways down the hallway before leading them out and back to the stairs.

Jack feels completely exposed. His guns are holstered and both hands are occupied keeping Reyes vertical, steady, and moving forward. Reyes isn’t fighting him, but he doesn’t have the strength to hold his own weight. And Jack’s sure that it hurts like hell trying right now.

Jack pushes down his fear and keeps both of them moving forward. He sticks as close as he dares to López. He doesn’t want Reyes freaking again, but falling behind isn’t an option.

The stairs back up to the main level are a trial until about halfway up. Reyes seems to realize what they are doing and reaches out his arm on Jack’s opposite side to steady himself. With that as a stabilizer, Jack at least doesn’t feel like they’re going to fall every other step.

They emerge from the gloomy building after climbing what feel like an endless number of steps. The rest of the team has rendezvoused and is waiting, still within the grounds of the complex. Jack’s skin is crawling. There are longer sightlines now, more places from which the dealers could spot them.

As soon as López, Jack, and Reyes fall in, Rodríguez signals them off and back into the woods towards their waiting transport vehicle. As Jack resettles Reyes’ arm over his shoulder, trying to get him a little steadier for the hike, he catches a sharp movement from López out of the corner of his eye. But López isn’t quick enough to stop Martínez as he comes up on Reyes’ off side, clearly intent on helping.

Reyes jerks back away from Martínez and this time Jack can’t keep them upright. They end up in a pile on the forest floor. Jack stifles the grunt he wants to let out as Reyes’ entire weight comes down on him. Reyes himself lets out a soft noise of pain. But their luck holds and the scuffle doesn’t seem to attract any unwanted attention this time either.

Jack takes a second to breathe, so he can think. The others give them space, the rest of the crew picking up that something isn’t right beyond the obvious injuries. One answer comes to mind: Jack likely looks nothing like Reyes’ captors. The rest of the squad does. Reyes must know López and Martínez would never hurt him, but Jack bets his subconscious mind is having trouble differentiating that at the moment. Which means that Jack needs to carry him out of here on his own.

Jack squirms out from underneath Reyes’ dead weight. He crouches back beside Reyes and rolls his shoulders, readying himself for the lift. 

A tug on his pack stops him. He looks back and sees Martínez pulling on the shoulder strap of his pack. Jack stares at him for a split second until understanding dawns. He shrugs off the pack and hands it over, grateful. Martínez passes it off to López, who isn’t carrying anything of his own beyond weaponry. Most of the squad isn’t. Only Martínez, with his supplies to get them in the building, and Jack, with the medical supplies, are carrying packs.

No need to weigh themselves down for a quick in and out.

Without the additional baggage, pulling Reyes to his feet is easier. But it doesn’t make getting back through the forest any less of a challenge. Reyes gets weaker with each step, leaving Jack to shoulder more weight as they go on. If it were flat ground, that would not be an issue. With the choked forest floor, the incline up to the high ground where they left the transport, and the suffocating dark of night, it’s a miracle Jack doesn’t trip every few steps.

He stumbles through. The journey not as fast or as quiet as any of them would like it to be. But they get there unscathed, their plan to be quiet and unseen working out against all odds.

Jack slumps against the hood of the vehicle, breathing heavily and trying to figure out how he is going to haul Reyes in by himself. Rodríguez moves slowly to Reyes’ off side, coming closer when the man doesn’t twitch. Jack frowns. As much as he’s relieved to have help getting Reyes into the vehicle, it’s a worrying sign.

They load up and Jack gets to work, checking what he can while bouncing through the forest in the back of a transport. Reyes is still breathing well, his pulse okay for the situation. The bleeding hasn’t started back up that he can see. And he’ll respond to pain, staying awake for short periods of time as they drive. He’s lucid when he is awake, so Jack’s not worried about a head injury. He’s pretty sure it’s the blood loss that is the biggest issue.

Reyes lets Rodríguez help Jack pull him out of the transport and into their plane. There, Jack has more supplies and more space to do some real work. He gets Reyes laid down and secured for take-off before hooking him up to the monitor in the plane, glad to see what he expected in his vital signs. He grabs his kit to start an IV. Then Jack tosses a bag of one of the blood replacement solutions and a bag of normal saline to Medina to spike and flush lines on. 

Jack waits out the take-off and starts two IVs on Reyes as soon as the plane steadies, running the blood replacement into one and the saline into the other. He wipes away sweat that stings his eyes, grateful for the synthetic blood replacements. From what he’s seen, they work and he can’t exactly store blood or cross-match in the field, even if he had training in how to do that. Which he doesn’t. 

He pushes Zofran in through the saline line as a preventative measure, before sitting back to check Reyes over again. To make sure he didn’t miss anything. He’d love to get the man some pain meds, but that’s not an option with the amount of blood he’s lost. He’s just not stable enough for it right now.

Jack finishes, reassured that he’s found the injuries. Reyes’ lungs are clear, luckily. The soaking wet state Jack found him in had him worried. 

“Sunshine?” Reyes slurs, focusing for the first time since his cell after receiving about half the liquid in the first set of bags. “That you?”

“Yeah, we got you,” Jack says, checking a pressure dressing on Reyes’ leg.

“Good,” Reyes says, quiet as a sigh, and reaches out weakly with a hand. Jack pauses in his work and takes it. He knows it’s just the blood loss, but Jack can’t help his heart skipping a beat anyway with want. Reyes slumps against his arm and Jack steadies him, making sure the IVs are still flowing and keeping an eye on the monitor that shows Reyes’ vitals. There’s nothing else that he can do here and now. He just needs to keep him stable until the hospital can confirm there’s no internal bleeding. And stitch up the external wounds.

He pushes down his stupid crush. It can wait.

The plane lands smoothly. Jack’s glad to see a team from the hospital waits with a stretcher on the runway, ambulance poised to head out. Jack detaches the auxiliary stretcher that Reyes is strapped to and Medina takes the other end, helping him carry Reyes off the plane. Martínez follows hot on their heels, holding the bags of fluids. Reyes has slipped back under again and doesn’t protest the jostling.

Jack relays all his information on Reyes’ condition to the waiting team. They listen intently before wheeling Reyes off, taking him to the hospital for an actual transfusion and more testing, Jack’s sure. And yet Jack stands on the runway, watching them go. He has an irrational urge to follow them. He knows he doesn’t need to be there, but letting Reyes out of his sight right now is more difficult than Jack had expected.

A hand on his shoulder breaks his concentration. Martínez doesn’t say a word. He just passes Jack his pack and physically turns him towards their part of the compound. He steers Jack at a brisk walk, only letting go once they get in their barracks and Jack breaks off to go to the infirmary. He needs to restock his pack, to make sure he’s ready for next time.

He may not want a next time, but he knows that it’s going to come no matter his feelings. It’s the reality of what they do.

Jack replaces his used supplies and leaves his pack in its place in the infirmary. He debates the merits of just collapsing face first into his bunk, but decides against it. His pants are covered in blood from the puddle he kneeled in to stabilize Reyes, now dried and stiff to the touch. He’s sweaty and dirty from the hike. And as exhausted as he is now that the adrenaline has worn off, he knows he needs to shower. So he forces himself to keep walking right on by his room. 

He scrubs the blood, sweat, and dirt off mechanically, not thinking too hard about what is what and where he acquired it. He knows that scene in the compound is going to haunt his nightmares for years to come. No need to let it start any earlier than necessary.

As clean as he’s going to get, Jack creeps into his room as quietly as possible expecting, correctly, that Martínez is already there and seems fast asleep. He strips down and falls into his bed, hoping for long, uninterrupted hours of sleep.

He’s drifts into a hazy, dreamless fog for awhile until his body starts waking up without his input. Jack scrubs the crust out of his eyes as he comes to full alertness and sees Martínez still passed out in the other bunk. He’s not sure how long he slept, if he can even call it that, but now that he is awake he needs to know how Reyes is doing. He quickly dresses and sneaks out of the room.

Jack grabs a protein bar and a mug of coffee from the kitchen in deference to the screaming demands of his body for food. Then he makes his way across the compound to the hospital, no longer drenched in sweat halfway there. He’s finally adjusting to the climate. He wishes that he had the energy to be excited about that.

The nurse waves him right into Reyes’ room when he climbs the stairs to the correct floor. Jack pushes the door open, immediately assessing Reyes appearance.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Reyes says. He’s sitting up in the hospital bed. He looks much better than when Jack last saw him. There’s color to his skin, his eyes are no longer as sunken, and he’s alert. Jack feels like he’s letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Take a seat.” Reyes pats the starchy covers next to him.

Jack pauses, boot scuffing on the tile floor. There isn’t a chair nearby. His only seating option is the bed itself. He takes a seat on the very edge.

“Really? I don’t fucking bite.” Reyes pauses and smirks. “Not unless you ask me to.”

It takes everything Jack has to let that slide with a roll of his eyes. But he uses the excuse to slide a little further onto the bed. “How you doin’, Reyes?”

“Gabe,” Reyes says. 

“Huh?”

“You can actually use my first name, you know.” Reyes leans back a little bit, and Jack can see the grimace that he’s fighting to hide. 

“Sure, Gabe,” Jack laughs. “Do you even remember mine?”

“Nah. What the hell is it again?” Gabe smiles. “I guess you aren’t bright and squeaky clean anymore, Mr. Dick Fletcher.”

Jack shakes his head. He still doesn’t know where the damn nickname came from, but his cover alias is worse by far. “Fuck you. Not that.” Jack smacks at Gabe’s right leg, about the only part of him that he remembers not being cut up or bruised.

“How was Mexico?” Gabe asks, kicking at Jack’s hand to fend him off.

Jack’s in the middle of relaying what little information he was able to gather before he was pulled out early when the hospital room door opens again.

“Well, you two look cozy,” Martínez says from the doorway, still looking exhausted. “I was coming to see if you needed company, Captain, but Sunshine apparently beat me to it.”

Jack is jerked back to reality from the little bubble he didn’t realize he’d entered. He abruptly remembers that he’s sharing a bed, however innocently, with Gabe and tries not to blush bright red. He almost trips over his feet as he stands up, putting a bit of physical distance between them.

“Ah, going so soon, Jackie?” Gabe looks like he’s fading fast despite the teasing.

“I’ll be back later,” Jack says, stepping further away. “See if I can’t smuggle you in some actual fucking edible food. The stuff in here is shit.” Jack flees the room before either of them can say anything, and does his best to ignore Martínez’s all too knowing smirk. 

 

**April 2009**  
Jack slumps down next to his kit, staring at his hands. The rational side of his brain knows that he washed all of the blood not caught by gloves off of them. But he can't help seeing flecks dotting his fingers, feeling the sticky slide of it on his skin, tasting a coppery tang in the air. And seeing blood on his hands is better than the other images trying to crowd in.

If he washes them any more, they're going to get even redder and chapped. They’ll betray his state of mind and he can't have that. Especially now. He can’t give anyone reason to question his mental state. The team is already in shambles. He can’t leave the survi—Jack swallows hard. He can’t leave the others without him as well.

He needs a distraction.

He pulls his kit over towards him and dumps everything out, organizing it so he can figure out what he needs to replace. He honestly can’t remember everything he used. It was all too much, too fast for him to have kept a mental tally of supplies.

The rest of the squad is busy sleeping or processing in their own way. Except Gabe who is still away on emergency family leave, even if it is unofficial. Jack can’t decide if he’s glad Gabe was absent from this mission, or if he’s mad that he wasn’t there for them. That he missed it all, that he’s not here now for the aftermath.

Jack thinks back to the all the blood and squeezes his eyes shut. Glad. He’s glad.

Either way, no one should be in to bother him for a while. He'd already checked over the rest of the injured, walking two over to the hospital on base for the docs to check out, because he just wasn’t sure.

He knows his guys hate the hospital and he tries to keep them out of it. They’ve finally learned to go when he says they need it, even if he does have to physically haul some of them over to get them there in a timely manner.

Jack spreads everything out over the floor around him, losing himself in counting and checking the equipment, occasionally stretching to reach a cabinet to replace lost equipment. Mundane tasks in an effort to calm his mind, to block out his thoughts.

The door to their makeshift infirmary opens and Jack glances up. 

Gabe strides in. And despite everything, Jack can feel the hiccup in his heartbeat. He blinks a few times, surprised. Gabe looks almost as bad as the rest of the squad had when Jack sent them off to get some sleep, worn down to the last after the long drawn out debrief with Petras. He tries to think, to trace how long it’s been since the mission went to hell. The days have run together, and he honestly can’t remember. He knows, logically, it took days to regroup, pull back, and find a secure way back to base. So a week, maybe? It somehow feels like it just happened, and at the same time like it’s been an eternity.

Gabe cuts right over any greeting Jack’s foggy brain could dredge up. “I just got done meeting with fucking Petras. How much of a shitstorm was it? Really?” Gabe crouches on the floor, close to where Jack is sitting. Jack distantly notes that he takes care to avoid the piles of equipment spread all around, and he appreciates it.

Jack shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the images that immediately flood his mind at Gabe’s question. Major Rodríguez's body blown into several different pieces from a trap no one saw until it was too damn late. Martínez bleeding out right fucking in front of him, life slipping through Jack’s fingers, as he scrambled to stop it in vain. He still hears the whispers of the man’s last words, telling Jack it was okay, that he knew there was nothing Jack could do. Half of the rest of the squad sporting injuries that will keep them out of the action for weeks, and Jack can picture every last one in horrifying detail. Nobody came out of that hellish debacle unscathed, and the ones that did walk away barely came out alive. 

Los Muertos had gotten the jump on them once again. And they’d known where to strike, all but eliminating the chain of command in one blow. The Major was the first to fall, and Martínez had been serving as his temporary second during Gabe’s leave. It’d taken everything Jack had left to pull the straggling remains of the team together and get them to retreat, a hailstorm of bullets on their heels. 

Jack steels himself before laying the entire mission out for Gabe. He buries his emotions and just pushes through the explanation, trying to treat it like a standard debrief. Same as he had done with Petras, but twice as fucking hard because these are people Gabe knows and cares about. Jack knows him well enough now to see it written all over his face, in the deep furrow between his brows, the miserable twist to his mouth, the heaviness in his eyes. Unlike fucking Petras, who Jack’s pretty sure just sees them as fucking chess pieces in some goddamn game.

And Gabe's likely going to get command. He should get command no matter what Petras thinks of his so called disappearing act after Petras delayed signing for his leave. He's going to need to know what happened to pull the squad back together.

“Okay.” Gabe nods when Jack runs out of words, when he can’t explain anything more right now. “You almost done here?” 

Jack looks around at his supplies, things half packed, and shrugs. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to stop working, to let his brain think about things again.

“Come on, Sunshine,” Gabe says with a little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You need to get some sleep, too. I saw you got everyone else squared away.”

Jack narrows his eyes at the nickname. No one in the squad has used it for months. Not since they started trusting Jack to actually have their backs. And Jack gets it, really. He's the blond haired, blue eyed farm boy running spec ops in Latin America. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Everyone else can blend in, some better than others. But Jack is marked as an outsider from the moment someone sees him. 

They've all learned to work with it. To use it as an asset. But it's taken time. And it took someone reaching out first, like Martínez—

Jack clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his thoughts back on track. The squad is close knit enough to not accept outsiders easily. Jack's on the inside now. But he paid his dues. If Petras tries to assign them a new commander from outside, it is not going to go well.

It’s taken Jack two years, and his biggest role is pulling their asses out of the fire and patching them up. How long would it take them to accept someone new, and accept them enough to follow them into hell?

When he opens his eyes, Gabe stands in front of him holding a hand out. Jack looks at the piles around him before accepting it. He knows Gabe will stand there as long as necessary. Stubborn son of a bitch.

“It'll still be there in a few hours. No one's gonna mess with it,” Gabe says, pulling him to his feet. “And no one is shipping out any time soon. It can wait.”

Jack nods, accepting that Gabe is not going to just leave him the hell alone, and lets Gabe lead him out of the room with a hand on his shoulder. It takes more effort than Jack has left to not lean into that hand. He hopes Gabe will just read it as exhaustion.

Over two years in and Jack's helpless crush hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten progressively worse as he's gotten to know the man. He doesn’t think Gabe’s noticed, and Jack plans on keeping it that way.

The only one who knows is—was Martínez. Jack swallows roughly and forces that thought away.

Gabe wraps an arm around his shoulders when Jack stumbles in the hallway. Maybe he is more tired than he thought.

Gabe pulls Jack through a doorway and he goes without protest. But he stops in the middle of the room, blinking as his brain registers the unfamiliar surroundings. This is not the room he's shared with Martínez for two years. 

An involuntary laundry list starts rolling through Jack’s brain at the thought and he swallows hard. He needs to pack up Martínez’s belongings and find an address for his sister to send them to her. He’s going to need to get someone to translate a letter of condolence into Spanish for him, too. He doesn’t trust himself to do it, even if his Spanish has improved, and he doesn’t want to send her some clinical note in a language that’s not her first. Not for this. She and Martínez deserve better.

“You don't need to be alone right now,” Gabe cuts into Jack’s thoughts. He sounds so reasonable about it that Jack can just nod, no argument coming to mind. He wants nothing more than to pretend none of this happened, to delay his responsibilities a little. He wonders if Gabe gets it. “Especially in that room.”

A hard lump lodges itself in Jack’s throat as he stands still, unable to move from the spot in the middle of the room. His chest tightens and his emotions threaten to overwhelm him. He’s apparently reached the end of his rope. He looks around quickly, breath starting to come short. He needs to get out of here before he breaks. This can’t happen here. He needs to get somewhere, anywhere that isn’t here. He needs to get away from everyone. No one can see.

“Hey, hey, Sunshine.” Gabe is suddenly right in his face, hands gripping Jack’s shoulders. “I got you.”

Jack tries to pull back, to run away. Gabe is having none of it. He wraps him up in a hug before Jack can escape. And Jack just loses it.

Jack breaks down sobbing into Gabe’s shoulder, no longer able to contain himself, to hide away. Despite the initial efforts Jack made to keep him at arms length and avoid anything embarrassing or potentially career threatening from his stupid crush, Gabe is arguably his best friend here or really anywhere, outside of maybe Ana. But Martínez was a close second. He was the first to reach out and befriend the out of place white farm boy with a warmth that was genuine. He taught Jack more about how not to die out there than he’s picked up anywhere else. He split his care packages from his sister with Jack. He shared his life with Jack.

And what did Jack give him in return? Not one fucking thing. Instead Jack let the man bleed out, unable to do anything except hold his hand and listen to him in the end.

Rationally, he knows that nothing else had been possible. That Martínez had lost too much blood already and was losing more at an uncontrollable rate. But he’s having a hard time forcing himself to believe it. 

Seeing Rodríguez blown apart is one thing. Nothing he can do there, even though he’s sure he’s going to find every angle of that later. 

Martínez, though. That was something he could have been able to help. Sure, he would’ve had to be right on top of him to get to the femoral bleed in time. But he could have stopped it. He just fucking couldn't get to Martínez in time.

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, tries to take in gulps of air that won’t come. Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. So many facets to Jack’s failure. He should have been in the right spot, but he wasn’t. And Martínez paid for it with his life.

Jack has no idea how long they stand there, Gabe holding him up in a patient embrace until he can get a handle on his tears and his breathing quiets. Then Gabe takes charge, backing him up with careful steps to set him on the edge of one of the bunks. Jack vaguely registers his voice, but he’s emotionally and physically exhausted and has no idea what Gabe is saying. It sounds soothing, but for all Jack knows it might be an order to rest, to get some sleep. Jack tries to find it in himself to feel embarrassed, to regret his uncontrolled display. He doesn’t have energy left to care, so he just sits and waits for Gabe to pat him on the shoulder and leave him in silence.

But Gabe sits down beside him. And despite the emotional mess, he stays. He doesn't back off at all. Just stays right there with him, an arm around his shoulders, listening. Jack’s sure he’s had a hell of a week of his own, based on the man’s appearance. But he stays and listens to Jack. And gives him comfort.

Eventually Jack registers that he runs out of words and tears. His voice is hoarse, and he’s wrung out. He feels old and tired. He knows that Gabe somehow gets him laying down. But everything is vague and confused as though he’s experiencing it through a thick, dense fog.

Instead of trying to figure it out, Jack follows the pull of sleep. He just doesn’t care anymore.

Jack wakes sometime later, limbs feeling like they weigh hundreds of pounds each. He's not sure he could move if he wanted to. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the grit out of his eyes. He recognizes he’s in the barracks from the generic, familiar furnishings, but he can’t pinpoint the specific room. It's definitely not his own. Window’s in the wrong spot and the sun isn’t hitting him right in the eyes as it rises. If it even is morning right now.

The bunk he can see across from him is neat and empty, and it’s clear no one has occupied it for some time. Definitely not his room.

As his surroundings start to register, he realizes that there are a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, and another body presses up against him. Jack snorts a little. The bunks are barely big enough for one person. Jack’s not sure how another person is balancing on the bunk with him without sending either of them toppling.

Jack stiffens as some of the details of last night crash into his brain. He's not sure he wants to know what he said because that can only be one person behind him. Unless he's forgetting a whole hell of a lot more from last night.

His suspicion is confirmed when he hears Gabe chuckle in his ear.

“You're okay, Jackie.” Gabe's voice sounds rough with sleep, but awake enough that he could have moved before Jack got up; Jack’s sure he would have slept through someone climbing over him, no problem. Instead, Gabe’s arm tightens around him.

“How—” Jack clears his throat when his voice comes out unintelligible.

Gabe rubs a hand up and down Jack's arm in what he suspects is supposed to be a soothing manner. But it just makes Jack freeze up more.

“You kind of held me hostage last night,” Gabe answers the question Jack tried to ask.

Jack groans, finally waking his limbs up enough to pull away from Gabe and sit up. He can't believe he did that. “I'm so sorry.” Jack says, hoping that he can come up with some reasonable explanation for this in the next few seconds. They’ve shared quarters before on missions without Jack forcefully cuddling the man. His brain is still a fog though and nothing comes to mind.

“Hey, you needed it.” Jack feels Gabe shifting around behind him. “It's not like I minded. Would’ve moved you or me, if I did. Pretty sure I can take you. Especially when you’re half asleep.”

Jack feels himself blushing and he buries his face in his hands. Even his damn ears are burning.

Gabe chuckles and shifts some more, and Jack feels a hand on his back. He raises his head enough to see Gabe sitting next to him now. He seems to be watching Jack, gauging him for a response. When Jack doesn’t say anything, he says, “We can write this off, if you want. Comfort after a hard mission. One time thing. Never has to happen again.”

Jack meets his eyes and can’t look away. Gabe’s words are loaded with meaning, and he tries to force his brain to parse it out. Something in Gabe’s deep gaze makes him whisper, “Or?”

“Or.” Gabe starts leaning a little closer and Jack can see affection sparkling in his tired eyes. “We can both admit we've been hiding some pretty big feelings here.” Gabe pauses. “And use this as a starting point. Come clean to each other.”

Jack stares at Gabe in shock, unable to believe what he hearing. Gabe is hiding nothing right now, and his emotions are clear to see on his face. Jack might be pretty bad at reading people, but he'd have to be blind to miss this one. 

Jack stops himself when his brain tries to spin into overdrive and overthinking. He knows what he wants. It might not be the smart option, but he’s going to take it. Consequences be damned for once. He clears his throat before speaking. “I'll take option number two.”

“Yeah?” Tempered though it is by their losses, Gabe's grin is blinding. And Jack can feel himself returning it before he meets Gabe halfway.

They're both smiling too much for it to be much of a kiss, but it still feels like a promise to Jack.

Unfortunately, reality comes crashing back in far too soon. Jack pulls back and takes a good long look at Gabe. Despite the hours of sleep they’ve stolen, Gabe still looks like shit. He still has deep circles under his eyes and looks pale and a little shaky. Like he's been too busy to eat and sleep before now.

It reminds Jack that he had disappeared with barely a word to anyone, despite Petras denying him any kind of leave. No one in the squad knows why, but Jack has the feeling Gabe’s desperation was spurred by some kind of bad news.

“You okay?” Jack asks, holding back the urge to reach out and touch. He doesn’t want the first thing he does to be overstepping the bounds of this new thing between them.

Gabe shrugs, folding inward a little. “Nothing a little sleep and some food won't fix.” He shifts away to lean back against the wall and Jack fights the instinct to follow him. “Found my nephew,” Gabe says and it surprises Jack. Gabe swallows. “Got custody sorted. Took him back to LA. My mamá’s taking care of him for now.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a pitiful little, “Ah.” Something must have happened to his nephew’s parents. Does that mean the kid is Gabe’s responsibility now? On top of everything else? But from the look on Gabe’s face, it’s the last thing he wants to discuss so Jack nods and files that thought away for later. 

The thought of Gabe with a kid puts a funny feeling in Jack’s chest, but he squashes that too, not sure how he feels about it. He's not sure he has any reason to feel anyway about it either. This relationship, or whatever, is way to new for Jack to start thinking about what a life together would be like with a kid or kids. He may want to plan forever and ever to have and to hold after one half-assed kiss, but that doesn’t mean Gabe does. 

Jack pushes the thoughts away. Either way it's too damn early to worry about. He may be too far gone too quickly. Doesn't mean Gabe is too. 

“And Petras?” Jack asks, focusing on the here and now.

Gabe growls low in his throat. “He had no fucking reason to deny me leave. And can't write me up for it without making himself look like an incompetent ass. It'll be fine. I’d love to know why he fucking denied it in the first place. There were no grounds. But I doubt the ass will ever tell me.” Gabe reaches over and tugs at Jack’s arm, pulling him back to sit against the wall with him.

Jack goes easily, leaning into the contact.

“How are you?” Gabe asks, gaze searching Jack’s face.

Jack shrugs. He doesn’t want to rehash everything he broke down over last night. “I'll be fine,” he answers instead, looking anywhere but at Gabe.

“You sure?” Gabe threads an arm around Jack’s shoulders but doesn’t force Jack to face him.

“I will be.” Jack pauses. “I have to be.”

Gabe huffs, but it sounds tired. “Don’t we all?”

Jack gives him a weak smile, grateful that Gabe doesn’t push. He bites his lip and then says, “Got a favor to ask though. Can you translate a letter to Martínez's sister for me?”

“Of course.” Gabe pulls Jack a little bit closer and Jack goes willingly. “We’ll pack his stuff up later today, too.”

Jack nods, glad that he doesn’t have to face that task alone. He sinks into Gabe’s embrace and relishes the warmth. He could stay here all day, if only—

A knock on the door thunders loud and harsh in the still room. Jack’s heart pounds in time with it, panic flooding his chest as he leaps to his feet. He takes two long, silent strides to the other bunk and slides in, pulling the covers up and doing his best to look like he’s been there all night.

He glances back at the other bunk once he’s settled. Gabe hasn’t moved, but Jack can see the tense concern mirrored on his face. He nods once Jack is ready and only then does he get up to answer the door, movements sluggish enough to suggest he just woke. 

Jack knows that if they are going to do this, this is only the beginning.


	2. Summer

**June 2010**  
Gabe swears vehemently as he stalks away from Petras’ office. A small strike force for their next mission? It’s fucking crazy. He's sure that they're going to run into more resistance than a four man team can handle. Especially one without their medic.

Petras’ argument is crap, too. Jack can hold his own just as well as the rest of them. His aim is one of the best in the squad. And his hand to hand skills are almost on par with Gabe's own, after all the work he put into them with first Martínez and then the rest of them over the years. Sure he's a little more conspicuous and doesn't have quite as good of a grasp on straight up sneaking. But they’ve covered for him before, no problem. The benefits of having him on the team far outweigh any risk.

If this all goes to shit, and he's sure it's going to go to shit, Gabe's going to want Jack there. He knows how to patch them up, and how to get them all to cooperate with it. The rest of them know some field medicine, but not as much. Not enough. That's why Jack's on the damn team.

Damn it. Gabe wants the full squad in on this. He's sure that they're going to need the full squad. Instead, he gets less than half of it. All because the fucking bureaucrat thinks he knows better than the people actually carrying out the mission. When the hell was the last time Petras was out in the field? Does he know anything about it anymore?

And this mission is shady as hell outside of all that. They don’t operate on US soil. That’s someone else’s territory. He’s not sure whose, probably the FBI’s, but it’s definitely not them. Why is Petras insisting on this? Sure, Deadlock runs back and forth across the border, but they generally operate in the US. And this mission is in the fucking US.

They shouldn’t be fucking doing this to begin with. And Petras is demanding they do it in the worst fucking way possible. Something isn’t adding up, but Gabe’s not quite sure where it’s stemming from yet.

Jack walks along beside him quietly, listening to Gabe’s litany of swearing but not interrupting. Gabe knows Jack's upset too. He’s just better at holding it back and hiding behind the mask of professionalism than Gabe is.

But fucking Petras took it to mean that Jack agrees with him, even when Jack straight up told him otherwise. The man heard what he wanted to hear, and not a damn word otherwise. Not that that is new in any fucking way.

Gabe stalks into the tiny shack in their cluster of buildings that serves as their meeting and war room. He throws himself into the desk chair with a guttural, “Goddamn it,” and sweeps the pile of papers with their coded mission planning off the desk. It’s all fucking useless now anyway.

“You kiss your mama with that mouth?” Jack asks with a smirk, settling himself on the desk in front of Gabe.

“¡Dios mío!” Gabe leans forward and sneaks a quick kiss from Jack, knowing that they're in relative safety here. “Pretty sure I'm only kissing you.”

“You fucking better be,” Jack responds, leaning back in and drawing out the next kiss. Gabe knows that they should stop, but he just goes along with it instead. The first person likely to brave the shack after the entrance Gabe made is López anyway, and he’d figured them out months ago.

And if not? Oh, well. Discharge would mean he doesn't have to run this hell bound mission after all. If any of the squad would actually turn them in, that is. Bastards probably wouldn’t do it.

Sure enough, a throat clears in the doorway. Gabe lets Jack pull away. Reluctantly. And not without protest. He mouths along Jack’s jaw with a little moan as he retreats, trying to really sell it.

“Pretty sure you two shouldn't be doing that here and you damn well know it,” López says, walking fully into the room. “Sirs,” he tacks on with a shit-eating grin.

Gabe sighs. No luck getting discharged today then.

“If I get kicked out, I don't have to deal with Petras’ idiocy anymore,” Gabe mutters even as he pulls further away from Jack.

“The news that good?” López settles into a chair on the opposite side of the table with a frown.

“Four person strike team. No Jack,” Gabe growls.

López whistles. “He tryin’ to get us fucking killed.”

“Says there shouldn't be much resistance. In and out quietly. And Sunshine here doesn't blend in as well as the rest of us.” Gabe laughs as López rolls his eyes.

“Cause we've never worked the dumbass American tourist angle before. Sure.”

“And we’re gonna be in the fucking US anyway. The white boy won’t stick out nearly as bad there.”

Jack settles into another chair, tilting to snag the map Gabe swept off the table before with his fingertips.

“We all know it’s shit, but how do we make this work?” Jack asks, laying it back out. “In a way that doesn't get you all killed. We all knows Petras is an asshole that’s wrong. But I don’t want you bringing me back dead bodies from the Deadlocks. Rather have a chance to get your asses patched up here if I can’t do it there.”

Gabe sighs and focuses. “We’re going to have to take our time. Slow in and fast out, I think.”

López nods. “Get the fuck in silently across the damn border. Set up in that godforsaken town and watch the bastard for a few days.”

“We don’t know when the target’s going to be most vulnerable. And we can’t take on his entire fucking gang with four people.” Gabe leans forward, looking again at the map that he already has memorized. “We have to take Stephens,” he adds, a little reluctantly.

“Why?” The surprise is evident in Jack’s voice.

Gabe sighs. “I don’t know what kind of security we’re gonna have to get past.” Gabe pauses again, thinking about what little they know about the town. “Medina, too. Maybe we can just snipe this fucker and be done with it.”

Petras said quiet, but Gabe’s taking no chances. He’s taking a goddamn sniper with him. Screw what Petras wants.

“Let’s get the rest of the damn team in here,” Gabe says, looking up at Jack. “I want every angle possible covered. Maybe we can find a way to make this work.”

Jack nods and gets up to go round everyone up.

“What I want to know,” López says as Jack leaves, “is how fucking much of Deadlock’s territory will Los Muertos take in the power suck? Are we taking out a small problem just to create a huge fucking one?”

Gabe scowls. He’s been so angry about the fucking mission parameters that he hadn’t yet considered the aftermath. And López is an asshole, but he’s a smart one.

This may yet create a bigger fucking problem than anyone is expecting. Gabe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, for all it helps. The worst part is he would bet Petras won’t give a damn. As bad as this could get, they’re locked in.

 

 **July 2010**  
Jack leans against the wall and watches the rest of the team. They normally don’t gather like this before a mission. Teams tend to come and go without much fanfare. They all know what missions are going down when and where and who is on them. It’s so routine that they don’t need a large sendoff every time. 

This mission is different in so many ways. The entire team got involved in the planning process. Everyone’d contributed ideas. They’d all argued them out trying to find the angle most likely to keep their team of four alive.

It was a team planning process and it’s ended in the full squad gathering.

Jack glances around. Well, except for Gabe, but Jack’s sure he’ll be here soon. He’s going on the damn mission, after all. 

There are smaller groups gathered within the room, each working to keep the atmosphere light. No one wants to believe that this is the last they’ll see of the strike force going in.

Jack sees Stephens, their newest member, break off from the group that was surrounding him. He’s been here a few months, coming to them with an extensive background in infiltration. Or at least as extensive as you can get in your twenties. Jack’s got a few questions about the kid’s background, but even he knows better than to shake up the kid’s confidence with them now.

Jack refuses to think about who used to have that job on the team. Martínez has been gone for over a year, but the wound still hurts and the images still haunt his dreams regularly.

Jack forces the thoughts away and walks over to Stephens. He remembers being the new guy. Hell, until Stephens got here he was still the fucking new guy. While no one is ignoring Stephens, he’s definitely still on the outside. Jack may not be ready to trust the kid, but he’s not going to leave him alone before a mission like this.

“Hey, kid,” Jack says, crouching down next to Stephens where he’s digging through his pack one last time. “All set?”

“I think so, sir,” Stephens says. He keeps rifling through his belongings, movements just a little frantic to Jack’s eye.

Jack reaches out a hand and still him. “Then trust that you have what you need. You shift everything around any more and it’s not going to be where you think it is when you need it. Trust yourself.”

Stephens pauses, sits back on his heels to meet Jack’s eye. Then he nods and zips the pack back up.

“You know the plan. All of you do. You’ve got this,” Jack adds, clapping a hand on his shoulder before standing up again.

“Hey, Morrison,” Medina calls. “You seen the boss?”

Jack glances around. Sure enough, Gabe is still missing. He sighs, hoping it’s not too theatrical. “I’ll go find him.” He’s pretty sure he knows exactly where to find Gabe, and he’s happy to go.

Jack taps once on Gabe’s door before letting himself in. Gabe glances up as he tosses his new phone in a drawer and smiles, beckoning Jack closer. Jack can’t understand how the damn thing works or why a phone should do more than make calls, but Gabe seems happy with it.

Gabe pulls Jack into a hug as soon as he’s close enough. Jack sinks into the comfort. As confident as he tries to appear for the squad, Jack is just as worried as the rest of them. He’s afraid that none of them will come back. That Gabe won’t come back.

Jack pulls back just enough to kiss Gabe. It’s deep and long. And not nearly enough. There’s so much that Jack wants to say, so much that he wants to tell Gabe, wants to ask Gabe.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Jack just kisses him like his life depends on it. The man that needs to come back before Jack can discuss the future with him. If Gabe wants there to be a real future here. He thinks so, but it’s not something they’ve talked about.

Now Jack is regretting that. But this is not the time or the place to even be thinking about starting that conversation.

Gabe pulls back, leaving a hand on Jack’s cheek, and Jack leans into it. They’re silent for long moments. Too many things to say and no time to discuss them. Eventually, Gabe reels him back in. The kiss is shorter this time, the goodbye that they can’t share in front of the rest of the squad.

“They’re waiting on you,” Jack forces himself to say as they break apart.

Gabe nods and releases him. Jack watches him go through his normal pre-mission check of guns, knives, ammo, and gear that he keeps on his person. The team may be going in the slow way, crossing borders without notice, but they’re expecting trouble every step of the way.

Check complete, Gabe kisses Jack quickly one more time. “I’ll see you in a week,” he promises.

“You better,” Jack replies. He refuses to think there’s any other option.

\--

Jack kicks a rock at the cinderblock wall as he paces. It makes a dull thump against the main building of their section of the compound, but he doesn’t care. No one is sleeping easy tonight anyway. Four of their own are out there, lives on the line, with the best plan their collective brainpower could come up with. Tonight, it all comes to a head.

And no one expects it to be good enough. The Deadlocks are far too strong for a four man team to take on and emerge unscathed. Everyone is hoping for injured instead of dead. Injured they can handle.

For now, Jack is on self-assigned restless pacing duty. The rest of the squad sits huddled in the common area, waiting together for the phone to ring. Jack tried to wait with them, but it felt too much like a vigil for him in there. Out here isn't much better, but at least everyone leaves him the hell alone with his shitty thoughts.

Someone will come get him when they have news. Good or bad, they’ll let him know right away.

Jack hears the door open behind him and halts his pacing to turn and look. But it’s just López, lighting a cigarette with a careless shrug.

“I know. These fuckin’ things’ll kill me,” he says as he leans up against the building.

Jack turns back away without an answer. Who knows if they’ll ever get out of here? Why worry about a little lung cancer in the future?

“The captain will bring their asses back,” López says. “He'll drag 'em back from hell if he has to.”

“Just so he has witnesses to what a shitstorm it was when he talks to Petras,” Jack agrees, continuing his pacing.

“Exactly.”

Jack hears López push off the building, gravel crunching as he comes up beside him. López puts a firm hand on his shoulder, halting his movement. “Gabe’ll be fine. Son of a bitch is too damn stubborn to die. You know this. He’ll tell the devil to send his ass back, that he’s not done kicking ours.”

Jack laughs despite the heavy weight in his gut, shoving López off. 

The door creaks open again.

“Morrison,” Sanchez calls from the doorway. “Medina's on the line.”

Jack spins around. He’s excited for news and dreading it at the same time. Why is Medina calling and not Gabe? Jack rushes back inside, trying not to get lost in wild speculation. He's got a job to do, and he is the second in command around here now along with being their medic. He pushes his personal feelings aside.

“Morrison here,” Jack growls into the phone.

The connection is crackling and disjointed. He can barely hear Medina on the other side. “Morrison?” Medina sounds breathless. “We're on our way back. Target's eliminated.”

Jack waits without responding, resuming his pacing instead. Medina pauses only for a breath before continuing his rapid-fire report. 

“We encountered heavy resistance on the way out. Two injured enough we need to get them to the docs. Reyes is the worst. Gunshot wound in the side. Stephens got winged. That quick-clot powder worked like a charm on him, but it still needs to be checked. Prep the hospital for Gabe, would ya? We think he's gonna need surgery. He lost a lot of blood. Semi-conscious now and the fucker still wants the phone.”

Jack smiles slightly. He can just see Gabe trying to grab the phone away. The man is the worst damn patient.

“We’re pretty sure he’s stable enough that he’ll make it now. We're inbound in about an hour. We got the external bleeding stopped, but I think there’s something else going on.” Jack hears scuffling on the other side of the line over the static. “Fine, sir.” Medina's voice sounds further away. “But you say anythin’ embarrassin’ and we're never fuckin’ lettin’ you live it down.”

“Jack.” Gabe's voice is slurred.

“Hey, heard you got shot.” Jack keeps his voice calm and even despite his racing heart.

“Fucker was gonna shoot Medina in the back. Couldn't let him do that.” Gabe sounds like he's fading fast.

“Yeah, that's just not right.” Jack clenches his eyes shut, glad that he’s meandered to the doorway and isn’t facing the rest of the team. “You get some rest, okay? I gotta let the hospital know you're coming.”

“'kay.” Gabe pauses for long enough that Jack thinks he's done. “Tell them to fix me up quick. I got to tell Petras he’s an asshole and I told ‘im so.”

“You got it.” Jack bites back the 'I love you’ he wants to tack on. Now is neither the time nor the place. An unsecured line, standing in a room full of people who can't be allowed to know officially? Career suicide. Even if none of them are prone to asking too many questions about their commanders’ relationship.

Gabe's mumbled reply is unintelligible, but Jack's pretty sure he knows what he said.

Jack hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath. He straightens up before addressing the rest of the squad, relaying the information Medina gave him.

López tags along as Jack leaves to prep the hospital on base. They’re lucky they don't have to ship more people out. The on base hospital can handle all measure of injuries. Not a luxury most bases have, but a necessity considering the black ops running out of this place.

“Fucker gonna be okay?” López asks. “Or you need a hard ass shoulder to cry on for awhile?”

“He'll be fine.” Jack hangs on to his optimism with an iron grip. Not that he has much on the best of days. And today is not the best of days, but if he doesn’t stay optimistic, he’s afraid of what he might let slip.

López grabs his arm and stops his progress. “Okay. Then take a goddamn minute before you go in there. ’Cause the bastards back there might not ask a lot of questions, but you know the stupid ass hospital staff will. The way you look right now, you're gonna get yourself fucking outed. And I sure as hell don't want to have to break in a new goddamn CO or two.”

Jack takes the advice and stops. He closes his eyes and takes a few seconds to breath in the dark of night, reconstructing the mask he wears daily when it comes to Gabe, before turning and facing López.

“Good.” Lòpez slaps his shoulder. “Now you can go let them know what they got incoming. Tell them I said they better do a damn good job.”

\--

Gabe slowly runs his fingers through Jack's hair, keeping an eye on the door. He has no idea what reason Jack gave the hospital staff to let him wait in here for Gabe to wake up from surgery. But he's sure it won't hold up to them finding him asleep, sitting in a chair, upper half leaning over to rest on the bed with his head pillowed up against Gabe's good side. 

Gabe's going to let him sleep for as long as possible. He doubts Jack slept much while he was gone.

He fights the lingering effects of the anesthesia, feeling the need to stand guard over Jack's slumber. And wanting to think about the shit show that the damn mission became.

He knew going in that it was going to be close. He knew that their mark had a larger resistance force than Petras said their intelligence showed. Asshole.

And he knew enough about the fucking Deadlocks to expect it. Seeing faces from some of his intelligence reports around Jesse when he pulled the kid out of Santa Fe a year ago scared the shit out him. He’s been tracking these assholes for years. He knows what they can bring to the table and how much resistance they should have expected.

He did not expect their damn mark to know that they were coming. The guy was waiting for them, smirking at them even when Gabe put a bullet through him.

After that, the trap had been sprung. Gabe knows they were lucky to get out alive. Stephens will need weeks to heal on that arm. Gabe himself is fresh out of surgery based on the weird, flighty feeling he knows well from the anesthesia wearing off. And Medina and García are bruised, battered, and shaken up all to hell.

It’d seemed like the whole damn city was out to get them. One bullet is not that loud. There must have been an alarm somewhere. Either something they tripped or something their mark set off without them noticing. There’s no other fucking explanation for it.

Gabe hears the beeping of his heart monitor speed up and deliberately takes a deep breath. Set that stupid ass thing off and everyone's going to be running into his room. Which is the absolute last thing that he wants.

He sighs when it slows again without Jack stirring or anyone coming in. 

Gabe looks around the room for a distraction. He needs to stop thinking about the damn mission. He’s not going to be able to do that freely until the staff unhooks him from his fucking electronic babysitter. He spots his phone sitting on the bedside table. Someone must have brought it in for him. The stretch pulls on his newly acquired stitches, but he's able to grab it.

Gabe turns it on and unlocks the phone easily. Getting it to connect to the spotty base WiFi takes several minutes. The phone is new and shiny, a present from his mamá so he could stay in touch with them easier. The WiFi on base is not.

He just gets it to connect and sees a waiting email from Jesse when a noise in the hallway interrupts him. He can hear López’s voice at what must be the nurses’ station asking about whether or not he's awake.

He doesn't hear the reply; López is a loud motherfucker at any given moment, but right now his voice is loud even for him. It’s a warning, and Gabe heeds it quickly.

“Jack,” Gabe murmurs, shaking a shoulder. Jack mumbles and shifts around, but he doesn’t come any closer to awake and alert. Gabe smiles despite the situation. That man can sleep anywhere through anything and while Gabe normally loves that about him, it’s about to be a big fucking problem.

“C’mon, soldier.” Gabe clears his throat and reaches for his command voice. “Up and at 'em.”

Jack snaps up, glancing around a few times like he doesn't recognize where he is before focusing in on Gabe. He smiles when he sees him awake. But anything Jack may have said is interrupted by the door as it bangs open. Instead, he snaps to attention as Petras enters trailed by López.

Gabe gives Jack a quick once over and is relieved to see nothing out of place before focusing on Petras.

“Forgive me for not getting up, sir,” Gabe says, infusing his voice with his most insolent growl. “Pretty sure the medical staff would get angry if I tried.”

Petras scowls at him. “Fine. What I want to know is what the hell happened? This was supposed to be covert.”

“What happened?” Gabe glares right back, voice rising. “Exactly what I damn well told you was going to happen. Sir.” He spits the title like an insult, ignoring the alarm in the background. “It was a fucking trap, and we barely got the hell out. And we clearly didn’t fucking get out unscathed.”

“So you triggered an alarm?” Petras asks, ignoring the small handful of medical staff that comes rushing in the room.

Gabe tries to shrug off the nurse reaching over to check his side as the second turns off the alarm. “I’m fine.”

“Sir,” the nurse begins to protest, but Petras talks over him.

“I need to know what happened. And the Captain said he’s fine.”

“Look, I’ll hit the little button if anything feels funny.” Gabe tries to sound reassuring. “But I’d rather get this over with.”

“I really can’t let you do that.” The nurse draws himself up to his full height. “The Captain just came out of surgery. Any increase in his heart rate and blood pressure increases the chances of complications.”

Petras glares. “I don’t know–“

Gabe decides that he likes this nurse when he cuts Petras off mid-sentence. “Specifically, a clot formed from the internal bleeding could break up and kill him. So you are going to be leaving my patient alone. I will go get the doctor if you want,” the nurse offers, folding his arms over his chest, “but you know that he’ll agree with me. So how about you get out, sir?” It’s clearly not a question. 

Petras glares at the man’s ID badge for a moment and then stalks out of the room without another word.

“Look,” the nurse leans back over to check Gabe’s side as the other staffer follows Petras out. “I know your type. You don’t want to be here. You think you’re fine, and you want to deal with your lovely CO ASAP.”

López chuckles from the corner. “Oh, he’s got your number, sir.”

“But you are not ready for that medically. If you don’t believe me, ask your medic over there.”

Gabe glances over at Jack who nods in agreement, grin annoyingly smug.

“I’ll cut you a deal. You be a good little soldier and your friends here can stay. If you let me finish checking you out now and you promise to rest, we’ll leave you alone. That means,” the nurse hastens to add when Gabe opens his mouth, “you do not get out of that bed, and you do nothing that will raise your blood pressure until I tell you it’s allowed. You promise me that, and there will be no fuss, no checkups, for next,” the nurse glances at the clock, “four hours until dinner comes around. Deal?”

“Deal,” Gabe agrees readily. Four hours of peace is by far the longest he’s ever been left alone in this damn place.

“Thank you,” the nurse says, as if he’d known he’d win. Gabe scowls at Jack and López as they snicker quietly but keeps silent as the nurse checks his vital signs, prods his wound, and changes the dressing. “You do all of that and you should be out of here in the next seventy-two hours. Then you can debrief for as long as you want.”

“Four hours?” Gabe asks as the man goes to leave.

“I promise, sir. Four hours unless you set off an alarm or hit your little button.” The nurse closes the door on his way out.

Gabe relaxes back against his pillows when Jack retakes his seat. 

“You look exhausted, Jackie.” Gabe reaches a hand out and Jack grabs it with both of his. 

“Asshole didn’t sleep the entire time you were gone.” López pulls up a seat on his other side. “Looks almost as bad as you.”

“Hey!” Jack protests.

“It’s true.” López shifts around and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “You two get comfortable. Rest. I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks,” Gabe says softly. Even with the guard he normally wouldn’t take the risk. But he came far too close to dying to pass it up today.

“No problem, sir. Just pretend I’m not here.” López pulls a face, looking over from his phone. “Actually, wait, don’t do that.”

Gabe chuckles, grimacing when it pulls at his side. “C’mon.” Gabe tugs on Jack’s arm and slides very carefully over on the bed. It’s not really made for two, but it’s bigger than the bunks and they’ve made that work. “You’ll sleep better up here.”

Jack stands from the chair, but doesn’t go any further. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’ve got your backs. I’ll wake you up if anyone comes near.” López stands up and shifts his chair directly in front of the door. He settles back in kicking his feet up onto the end of the bed. “Promise.”

Gabe tugs on Jacks hand again and he comes without protest this time. Gabe feels him settle against his good side and slide an arm carefully across him before he lets the lingering exhaustion take over and sleeps.

 

 **August 2010**  
Gabe sets a tray of fresh drinks down on the table to a chorus of cheers. He grabs his own Coke, wishing it was something stronger, before sliding back into the booth beside Jack. He’s still under medical advice to not drink. They didn’t even want him to travel, but fuck that.

The entire squad is off on a three day leave following the clusterfuck of a mission that almost got him killed. Gabe thought about going back to LA to see Jesse, but three days off means he’d get about six hours at home what with finding official flights from a base that exists on paper and all associated layovers. Not to mention having to actually get to that official base in the first place.

He still would have done it to see the kid, but his mamá said Jesse’s class is on an overnight field trip or something this weekend. Something Jesse is apparently excited about, for the first time since leaving Santa Fe. It’s been hard enough for him to adjust. Gabe doesn’t want to ruin such a positive step. 

He’d settled for a long Skype call over slightly better internet than the base provides. It’s not the same, but it will have to do for now. Maybe he could swing some real leave soon. Jack could handle things in his absence no problem.

So instead of LA, Gabe's with his team in the nearest city with a beach that they’re relatively confident they won't be recognized in. Which wasn’t even difficult to get to, after promising their favorite pilot free drinks all weekend.

Meant they got here with enough time to enjoy their three days in full. Definitely worth the tab Gabe knows Fio will run up.

Gabe’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he works at extracting it. The process is made more difficult by the human octopus Jack has become next to him. It’s thankfully a discreet level of handsy hidden mostly by the table and they are in a dark corner of the bar, but Gabe still makes a mental note to intercept his next few drinks. He may not be able to drink them right now, but he's sure López will gladly double up for a bit.

He does manage to retrieve his phone after physically moving Jack's hand. Gabe frowns when he sees a call incoming from his house. He may have a fancy new phone, but international calling is still fucking expensive.

Gabe hauls himself back up out of the booth, hiding a grimace at the pull of newly healed skin on his side. He holds his phone up towards the table as an explanation and is met with a chorus of boos and a pout from Jack. 

“Fuckers,” Gabe shouts back, smacking off Medina’s uncoordinated grasp at his phone. “I'll be right back, assholes. I have to take this.”

“Bring back shots!” Fio yells at his retreating back.

Gabe flips off their pilot with one hand as he answers the phone with the other.

“Hola?” Gabe yells over the noise of the bar. He can feel his heart starting to race with worry. Is something wrong? Something bad enough to warrant a call instead of the usual emails? Maybe he should have gone home after all.

“Tío!” Jesse's voice cuts through the static easily once Gabe makes his way out of the bar.

“Hey, kiddo. What's going on?” 

“Abuela said I could call. We won!” Jesse’s voice is jubilant and Gabe breathes a little easier. Apparently, there’s nothing wrong there after all.

“You did?” Gabe prompts even as he tries to remember what Jesse had going on this weekend that he could win.

Gabe leans against the brick wall of the bar as he listens to Jesse describe fútbol games in great detail. Ah, that’s right. It’s a weekend tournament away, not a school trip. Some major thing for ten year olds, Gabe guesses. It sounds like Jesse’s having a blast. And possibly running on the world’s biggest sugar high.

The bar door opens in the middle of Jesse’s enthusiastic storytelling. Gabe smiles as Jack emerges and even in the dusk light, Gabe can see he's glassy-eyed. Someone must have gotten tired of waiting for Gabe and fetched the shots on their own.

Jack stumbles slightly on his way over, and Gabe reaches out his free hand to steady him. Jack latches onto Gabe's side instead and Gabe stifles a grunt in pain.

“Missed you,” Jack mumbles into his shoulder. 

Gabe is glad that the phone is on his other side. He’s not ready for Jesse to be asking questions about Jack. Gabe glances around before leaning in to press a silent kiss into Jack’s hair.

“That's great, kid,” Gabe says into the phone as Jesse finally runs out of words, keeping one arm wrapped around Jack. He’s pleased to hear Jesse speak so freely, that he sounds like he’s in a much better state than he’d been when Gabe’d first left him in LA.

“It was really awesome,” Jesse agrees. Despite being completely wound up at the beginning of the call, Gabe can hear Jesse trying to stifle a yawn.

“I'm sure. But it's getting late, isn’t it?” Gabe laughs at Jesse's groan. His protest that he isn’t tired gets interrupted by another yawn. “Where’s abuela? I think it’s time for bed.”

“Can I send you a picture of the trophy first? It's really cool,” Jesse says with one last burst of enthusiasm. Gabe chuckles. He knew it was late there no matter how energetic Jesse sounded initially.

“Sure, but then bed. I'll call you tomorrow while I've still got good internet, okay?” Gabe glances down at Jack, still resting against his shoulder, and bites his lip. He really needs to figure out what he wants to do about that in the future.

He wants Jack in his life, which means Jack will have to meet Jesse. Jesse is definitely around for good. But he doesn't know if that's what Jack wants. Is this just a wartime thing? Convenient for both of them? He doesn’t think so, but Gabe doesn’t like acting before he’s sure. Does Jack even like kids? Does he really want to introduce Jesse to someone that might not stick around? All questions he needs to deal with, but nothing that he can discuss with Jack right now.

Gabe hangs up with Jesse and waits a few moments for his phone to buzz again. He pulls the picture up, even as Jack grumbles.

“Don't know how you stand that thing,” Jack mostly slurs into his shoulder.

“What? It's a phone,” Gabe replies absently, smiling at a grinning Jesse holding up a trophy. He's sweaty and grass stained, from what Gabe can see, but looks more excited than he's ever seen the boy.

“Not just a phone. Does too much. Too smart.” Jack starts slipping down Gabe's side.

“Sure, Sunshine.” Gabe pulls Jack back up. “Too smart. You can use Morse code and smoke signals, old man. The rest of us are going to live in this century.”

Jack's reply is too mumbled for Gabe to make out. Gabe hauls him over to a low wall and sets him on it.

“I need to sleep,” Jack slurs, trying to wrap himself around Gabe as if he’s going to sleep right there. “Damn Fio and her tequila shots.” That definitely explains Jack’s state. The man can never handle tequila, but Fio talks him into it every damn time. Gabe wrestles him off just in time as footsteps crunch on the road behind them.

“You all right, Cap?” Medina asks.

“Yeah. Morrison needs a bed though,” Gabe says. Jack tries to straighten himself on the wall without Gabe's support and almost topples over backwards before Gabe steadies him again. “I'm going to take him back. Make sure he doesn't fucking die on the way.”

“Sure thing. Need a hand?” Medina offers, as though Gabe can’t see him wobbling on his feet a bit too.

“No, it’s still early. Stay out. I got him. Tell Fio I owe her a shot. I'll pay up later,” Gabe answers.

“You got it.” Medina gives him a sloppy salute before going back inside.

Gabe looks at Jack, sprawled in a semi-conscious heap balanced precariously atop the low wall before him, with a fond smile. He wrestles the man to his feet and supports most of his weight on the short walk back to the hotel.

A room shortage when they got here had meant someone had to share. He and Jack had jumped discreetly at the opportunity, claiming they didn’t mind taking one for the team. That they could handle sharing for a few days. The others readily agreed without too much thought, while López had stood behind everyone else giving his commanders a knowing smirk.

Gabe wrestles Jack out of most of his clothes and gets him settled into the bed. Jack grabs at Gabe’s hands with no coordination but Gabe easily fends him off, conceding with a trail of kisses across Jack’s freckle-dusted skin. He allows Jack to claim one long, sloppy kiss even though he has to help him fit their mouths together. He knows Jack’s going to pass out as soon as he is horizontal, and there’s no use starting anything more if it’s just going to leave them both frustrated. They still have another day of leave left to put to full use.

Sure enough, Jack slides back against the pillow with a sigh and is out before he’s fully prone. Gabe kneels next to him, running light fingers down Jack’s arm with a fond little smile. Jack’s going to wake up hung over as fuck and he can already hear the whining. Despite everything, he’s looking forward to it.

Gabe takes some time to clean up before climbing into the bed himself. He settles carefully onto his uninjured side and wraps an arm around Jack, reveling in the freedom to spend all night together uninterrupted.


	3. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to warn for an unhappy ending? I figured it was implied.

**November 2010**  
“Hiya, Captains.” López strides into the common room that's empty except for Reyes and Morrison. Most of the squad is outside playing a pick-up football game that both men opted out of, which left them the common room to themselves. Well, at least until López strolled in.

Reyes is laying on the couch looking mostly asleep, feet tucked short of where Morrison sits slumped to the side reading a book. The TV has what looks like some sort of soap opera playing at low volume. Probably one of Reyes’ damn telenovelas.

It's a completely innocent scene. Unless you know what's going on between the two of them. Then you can see where Reyes’ legs are curled up tight to avoid contact, likely done when he heard noise nearby. It’s nothing like Reyes’ usual sprawl. And though Morrison appears relaxed, Lopez can pinpoint the tension in his shoulders.

“What do you want, fuckhead?” Reyes asks without opening his eyes.

“I know we're in the ass end of nowhere here, and the damn dinosaurs get new fucking news before us. But an old fuck buddy of mine sent me an interesting article with some interesting news. Thought you two might be interested.” López drops into the recliner, enjoying the glare Reyes levels in his direction.

“And?” Reyes asks without sitting up. Morrison doesn't even look up from his book, the jackass.

“Here I fought with the damn base printer just so you could see all of it. And this is how you fucking treat me. Maybe I won't tell you.” López leans back, crossing his arms behind his head like he intends to settle in.

“Hey, Jack.” Reyes’ conversational tone sets off López’s alarms. “Don't we need a volunteer to scrub down all of the bathrooms? With a toothbrush.”

“We do.” Morrison turns a page, still not looking up. López would bet he’s not even really reading the damn thing. “Always got to watch out for those surprise inspections.”

“Inspections? We never have those fucking things,” López protests. “We don't even exist on paper, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Mmmm.” Morrison glances up. “You can never be too sure. Someone has to know about us. We get funding, after all.”

“Fine.” López tosses the printed pages at Morrison. He wouldn't put it past the assholes. Messing with them is not worth the risk. “Looks like they're finally fucking talking about repealing Don't Ask Don't Tell. And it’s likely to pass. Thank fuck. Rumors say next September for it to actually go into effect. If the damn politicians actually stick to a goddamn timeline. Don’t know why it has to take so fucking long though.”

López watches while Morrison scans the article before handing the pages over to Reyes, who actually sits up to take them.

“Does this mean I get to throw you assholes a coming out party?” López is sure his grin is a little manic. “It's been a long fucking time coming.”

“No!” Reyes growls. “I will make you scrub down the entire damn base with a toothbrush if you do. No fucking way.”

“Aw. But think of the bastards outside! They’d be happy to celebrate.” López pauses. “In a way that isn't thank the devil we all made it out alive and mostly intact.”

“No.” Reyes is full on glaring now.

“Morrison ain't complainin’. Maybe we'll throw him a party and not invite you.” 

“Do it and die.” Morrison is back to reading his book, not looking one bit excited. “Besides, it doesn't change the frat regs, and I’ll be shocked if it actually passes.”

López slumps. Asshole. Raining on his parade.

 

**September 13, 2011**  
Gabe frowns down at the computer screen. The email from his mamá worries him. He knew Jesse hadn’t wanted to talk to him on the phone lately, but he wasn’t expecting an update as bad as this. Bristling, angry, prone to getting into fights. Gabe sighs and scrubs a hand down his face.

Gabe admits that he isn’t a large presence in the boy’s life despite his best efforts. The distance, not to mention the details of his fucking job, make even checking in a nightmare. He doesn’t have a real good idea about what might be going on with Jesse, but he doesn’t like it. If his mamá is worried, he’s worried.

He’s been toying with the idea of getting out. Either out of black ops or out of the Army completely. He isn’t sure which he wants, but he does think that it’s about time to be getting home more often. He took the kid in, he needs to be around for the day to day. To be a support system and role model for him.

He can’t do that from the middle of fucking nowhere doing a job he can’t talk about thousands of miles away from the kid.

Gabe taps the keyboard, thinking. He has his twenty years in. He could technically retire and get all of his benefits. He stretches in the chair, muscles in his back tightening up. He’s starting to think that it’s time to get out before he ends up dead or disabled. It’s taking him longer and longer to recover these days. He feels beaten down for longer periods of time. It’s just a matter of time until he reacts too slowly and winds up dead because of it.

Gabe pulls up a second window and starts looking for the information he needs on retirement when the door behind him opens. He quickly minimizes everything before turning around. He smiles when he sees Jack, rumpled like he just woke up and finding Gabe is the first thing he’d thought to do. Gabe gestures Jack over, checking to make sure the coast is clear, and pulls him down into a kiss. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” Gabe whispers, keeping a hand on Jack’s cheek. Jack rubs against it before separating himself and dragging a chair over.

“Mornin’.” Jack drops into the chair backwards, pillowing his head on his arms on the back of it. Must not have stopped by the kitchen for coffee yet. Jack looks like he’s already falling back asleep. 

Sitting in front of him is reason number three or four for getting out. Gabe wants to be able to openly kiss this man. He’s sick of hiding even though he knows they’re in an enviable situation with their squad compared to most in their positions. He loves this man and wants to be able to tell the world. And he can’t do that here and now. He can’t do that even when Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is officially repealed on the 20th, as Jack pointed out all those months ago.

Moving room assignments around with their last few recruits has given them a little bit more freedom. They’re sharing a room now. It helps, but it’s not enough. They still have to be careful. They still have to hide. They can’t spend nights together, no matter how much Gabe wants to crawl into Jack’s bunk every fucking night.

If Gabe gets out, he’ll be able to tell everyone even if Jack stays in. He can’t lie to himself. It definitely adds to the appeal. 

He doesn’t expect Jack to follow him out. He doesn’t have his twenty years yet. And even if he did, Gabe wouldn’t expect him to come too. The team’s going to need a leader. Jack should get the chance to be that leader without playing second fiddle to Gabe.

“What’re you doing awake already?” Jack asks, breaking Gabe’s line of thought.

Gabe shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” Nightmares again. Not that Gabe wants to mention it to Jack. Jack has enough fuel for his own nightmares; they all do. Gabe doesn’t need to complain.

“Mmmm. Missed you.” Jack sounds mostly asleep.

Gabe checks for witnesses again out of habit before pulling Jack in for another kiss. He definitely won’t miss the constant vigilance required to kiss his own lover. He’s just not sure Jack’s on the same page though. He’ll have to find time to talk about it when Jack’s actually awake. 

At the moment, Jack’s head is already buried back in his arms, eyes tightly closed.

“C’mon, Sunshine. Go get some coffee before you fuck up your back trying to sleep like that.” Gabe stands and pulls Jack to his feet.

“Coming?” Jack asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“In a bit. I’ve got a phone call to make,” Gabe replies.

Jack nods, leaving the room and hitting the far wall as he stumbles towards the kitchen. Gabe watches him go for a few seconds, suppressing a smile. God, he loves that dork.

Gabe pulls his phone out to call Jesse, but pauses. Jesse doesn’t know anything about Jack. That’s a complication that Gabe has to consider. He and Jack never discuss the future. It’s never seemed like the right time, since their present is so precarious. Gabe knows what he wants out of this, but he’s not sure that Jack is on the same page.

Jack might not be as committed. And even if he is, that’s no guarantee that he would be open to having a kid. Gabe won’t have someone in Jesse’s life in that capacity that isn’t committed to him. And it’s a lot to ask from anyone.

Gabe’s not really sure which way Jack falls on an issue like that. The man has never talked about kids or wanting them. Not that they’ve spent much time talking about kids or families, either amongst themselves or with the rest of the team.

Gabe knows that’s partially his own fault. He’s kept the two halves of his life forcibly separated. He’s never seen the point of bringing them together when everything was so cloaked in shadow, and their relationship was literally illegal. He never gave them a chance to actually have that conversation.

If he retires, then he wouldn’t have to keep them apart once the repeal goes into effect. Provided Jack wants to be part of his entire family.

He wasn’t exactly excited about the news of the DADT repeal going into effect soon. But Gabe’s not sure how much he should be reading into that. And there’s no way to know without asking him.

First things first. He needs to deal with Jesse this morning. Then, he’ll have to figure out how to prepare the squad for him leaving. If he’s leaving, he’s not going to leave them in the dark. Then he’ll have to talk to Jack and find out if his lackluster response to the repeal was because of the situation they’re in currently. Or if it’s because he doesn’t see this going anywhere. 

Gabe honestly can’t be sure which it is. He hopes Jack’s on the same page as him though.

First things first. Gabe unlocks his phone, no longer shiny and new, but it still works for calling home.

“Hey, kid,” Gabe says when Jesse picks up the phone. “Want to tell me what’s going on? ‘Cause I’ve got to say, I don’t like what I’ve been hearing lately.”

Gabe paces the room, listening to Jesse huff and sigh and rant without saying much of anything. He tries to read between what the kid is saying and what he isn’t, but he has to admit defeat. As much as he’s tried to be there, thousands of miles of distance and irregular contact doesn’t make it easy.

Jesse pauses in his long rant about idiots at school and math that doesn’t make sense no matter how much he stares at it.

“Tío?” Jesse’s voice sounds suddenly small across the phone line. “Can I ask you something important?”

“Of course.” Gabe stops his pacing and settles back down into his chair. Medina pokes his head in the room before Jesse starts speaking again and Gabe waves him away without a word. He doesn’t need the distraction now. And unless the base is completely surrounded, under fire, and the building is about to collapse on his head, whatever it is can wait until he is done here. Medina nods and withdraws.

“Are you alone?” Jesse sounds worried. “Really alone?”

Gabe stands back up and checks the hallway, closing the door for good measure. “Yeah, I am. I just made sure.”

“Okay.” Jesse pauses again and Gabe waits him out. Then Jesse whispers so softly Gabe can barely hear, “Are you gay? I just…I remember something Mamá said. It’s okay if you don’t—”

“Yeah, kid, I am,” Gabe says immediately, cutting off the uncertain rambling following the question. He thinks he knows where this is going now. He remembers being eleven and confused. He remembers the trouble he got into at that age, feeling like the entire world was against him. He’s not going to let Jesse feel that way. He’s sure his mamá isn’t going to let him either.

“How’d you know?” Jesse’s follow up isn’t a surprise.

Gabe leans back in his chair and tries to remember being Jesse’s age. “Girls were never that interesting. I had plenty as friends, but I never saw the appeal for anything more. I was way more drawn to my best friend at the time, in a way that took me a long time to understand.” Gabe suppresses a laugh. He doesn’t want Jesse to think he’s laughing at him. “And that never changed. I still don’t get women.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Jesse sounds much more like himself.

Gabe looks up at a tap on the door and sees Jack holding it open a crack, peeking in. He smiles and holds up a finger to give him a minute.

“Anything else you want to talk about?” Gabe asks deliberately lightly, not pressing for anything more. Jesse can tell them in his own time. And who knows if Gabe’s suspicion is even correct. Jesse could still just be questioning.

“No. Not now. But can you call again? Soon? I know it’s expens—”

“Absolutely,” Gabe promises without hesitation, not caring one bit about the cost. “As much as I can. And email me whenever.”

“Okay. Adíos.” Jesse hangs up the phone before Gabe can reply. 

Gabe waves Jack into the room as he puts his phone away, mind made up. He’s getting out and getting home as soon as possible. It’s what he needs to do for himself and for Jesse. And maybe, just maybe, for him and Jack too.

“We’ve got new intel on Los Muertos. Meeting with Petras in ten,” Jack says, leaning against the door. “We’ve got to act fast. Source came from the inside this time.”

Gabe grins. Maybe he can take out those assholes as a parting gift to the team.

 

**September 15, 2011**  
Jack drops onto the couch in the common room, glad that it is completely empty. It’s the middle of the night, so Jack isn’t surprised, but he’s glad for it anyway. He has too much to think about and doesn’t want any distractions.

He could have gone back to his room, but Gabe is likely there. And right now, that’s part of the problem, not the solution.

He just got out of meeting with Petras to come up with a mission plan. Petras is overseeing this one personally, which is unusual. It’s more like him to point them at a target and then sit back, let them do it on their own. But they’ve been after Los Muertos for so long that Jack isn’t surprised. He’s sure that Petras wants them just as badly as the rest of them.

It hasn’t been going over well though. And that is the issue. Gabe and Petras have been arguing about how to do this. To be fair, they’ve been arguing for years before Jack even got assigned here, from what he understands. They’ve never seen eye to eye on anything, but they’ve been able to work together. Mostly because they’ve interacted as little as possible to get the fucking job done.

All of that came to a head today. It seems Petras has finally had enough of Gabe arguing against his every point. He’d thrown Gabe out and given Jack control of the team. Jack remembers the chilling silence in the room after that move, the rest of the squad as stunned as Jack had been.

Petras hasn’t discharged or transferred Gabe yet, but Jack’s worried it’s just a matter of time. He scrubs a hand down his face. He’s not sure that he wants to lead this team, especially if it means Gabe being kicked out for good.

Maybe this is the reason that Petras has always given Gabe so much free reign, knowing they can’t work together. And that Gabe is extremely effective, needing little oversight. Jack sighs. He hopes the two will settle down after this mission, get everything sorted out and back to normal. If they’re going after people that Petras has less investment in, maybe he’ll be content to go back to the status quo. Jack sure doesn’t like the state that they’re existing in right now. And he’s not sure that he could handle it long term.

For his part, Gabe hasn’t been pulling his punches with Petras. Jack is used to him arguing with Petras, but doing it in a way that’s mostly professionally acceptable. Petras is their superior officer, and they have to respect that. Even if neither of them can stand the man. And Gabe does, under normal circumstances. He argues it out to the line—but not over it—and then comes back and rants to Jack or López or beats the hell out of a punching bag. Every once in a while, it results in him tracking down enough ingredients to bake for the team.

No one complains about that. The squad has been quietly collaborating for years to make sure their tiny kitchen is stocked with the essential baking supplies. It’s Gabe’s healthiest coping mechanism, and they try to encourage it. Just like they collaborate to smuggle in López’s preferred brand of cigarettes or get in the newest seasons of Sanchez’s weird anime obsession. 

Surprisingly, it’s been Stephens that has been able to encourage more baking and make sure Gabe finds everything he needs already in the kitchen for whatever he wants to make. Stephens also seems to have the most connections for getting anything any of them want. Jack still hasn’t dredged up the time to ask that kid about his past, and he kind of regrets it.

But for the past few days, it’s been like Gabe doesn’t care. He hasn’t been trying his usual approach, to work around Petras’ ideas. To follow the letter of what Petras wants but do it in a way that actually makes sense. It almost seems like Gabe is checked out, not caring what happens here long term. About his career after this mission.

Jack’s relieved that he at least is still trying to steer the plans in a way that gets the team in and out with the least amount of injuries. He just isn’t trying at all to be diplomatic about it. He doesn’t seem to care what Petras thinks anymore. Like it doesn’t matter for the rest of his life.

Jack’s not sure how to take that.

And it leaves Jack high and dry, trying to figure out what to do. Tomorrow is the last planning session. In two days, they go in. And Jack has to be the one to lead them all in and, hopefully, all out as well.

Jack levers himself off the couch and starts pacing, restless energy threading through his limbs. He’s been arguing for keeping most of what Gabe wanted to do, despite Petras’ disgruntlement. The man’s plans are solid, even if he’s apparently lost his damn mind in terms of behavior lately. But Petras is insisting on key differences. On waiting until later in the day and taking a different route in.

Jack doesn’t like the new route. It’s too narrow. Leaves them grouped too closely, no good sightlines to cover all the angles an attack could be coming from. It’s not the worst route in, but it’s not what Jack would take in if he had his way. But he doesn’t have the clout to demand it. What will Petras do if Jack pushes too hard? Jack scowls, throwing himself back on the couch when he runs out of steam. He can’t leave the team completely stranded without either of their leaders.

At least Petras listened when Jack insisted that Gabe stay a part of the team that goes in. He wants Gabe watching his back. Gabe’s been after Los Muertos from the beginning. He knows more about them than any of the rest of them. He needs to be there. He’ll be able to spot anything out of place quicker than the rest of them.

And personally, Jack just doesn’t want to walk into hell without Gabe by his side.

Jack sighs. This isn’t getting him anywhere. He came in here to think, to plan for how to approach mission planning with Petras tomorrow. And he’s not getting any further on that, running around in mental circles instead. He’s just not sure how to approach the man on his own. Usually, he’s the quiet, calm buffer between Petras and Gabe, lending his voice behind Gabe’s arguments, but doing it in a way Petras can accept.

Without Gabe there, Jack knows that he’s going to need to be more aggressive. But he needs to balance on the edge as well. He can’t lose it. The squad needs one of its leaders in on the planning.

Jack pushes himself up off the couch. It’s late and he needs some sleep before they get started again tomorrow. He wants to make an argument against their route in, and he knows he needs to be at his best to do it. He might as well try to get some sleep.

He drags himself back to his and Gabe’s room, thinking about saying screw it all tonight and climbing into bed with Gabe. He could definitely use the comfort, almost enough to take the risk. He thinks that Gabe could too. It’s been a hell of a day for both of them.

But Jack halts on the threshold, frowning. Gabe isn’t in the room. It’s the middle of the goddamn night. Jack has no idea where he could be. And the most worrying part is that this seems to be becoming a habit.

Jack sighs and strips down before climbing into bed. Gabe’s been on the phone all the damn time lately too. And he hasn’t been talking about it. Not that that is unusual for Gabe. Jack wonders if there’s something going on at home. Gabe’s never talked too much about his home life. But this, along with his nightly forays, almost makes Jack wonder…

He shakes his head. Jack can’t worry about that now. He needs to sleep.

But it hovers just out of reach. Jack is still awake, mind spinning in circles, when Gabe ghosts into the room an hour later. Jack listens as Gabe gets ready for bed. He’s surprised when Gabe pads across the room to Jack’s bunk.

Gabe crouches down and places a light, lingering kiss Jack’s cheek. Then he moves to stand. But Jack reaches out and grabs him before he can move away. Gabe comes willingly without a word, squeezing himself onto the bunk beside Jack.

“Everything okay?” Gabe asks quietly after he’s settled.

Jack shakes his head. Nothing is okay. He curses himself for being weak even as he flips over and wraps himself around Gabe.

“We’ll get through this,” Gabe whispers. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“Then we need to talk,” Gabe adds.

Jack feels his heart start racing even as he stiffens.

“Nothing bad, Sunshine. I promise.” Gabe rubs Jack’s shoulders and he can feel himself relaxing. “I’m hoping it’s a good thing all around.”

“Okay,” Jack mumbles, sleep finally settling over him. He decides he can trust Gabe that much. 

 

**September 19, 2011**  
Jack wakes. He blinks rapidly when everything remains mostly black and nothing comes into focus. Panic rises in his gut. He can't fucking see anything.

Distantly, he hears an insistent beeping speed up.

Right. Hospital. Explosion. His vision fucked.

Jack swallows and takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before people rush his room. This isn't the first time he's woken since the explosion, after all. But the smothering feeling of his newfound blindness is primal and debilitating, and takes some time to work through. 

Not being able to see is fucking bad enough. Not being able to see in a room full of people poking and prodding him is not something that Jack ever wants to repeat. They keep telling him his vision will get better. No one knows how much better, but they seem convinced he won't be blind forever. He just has to give his optic nerve time.

Waking up in the dark still hasn't gotten easier. He doesn’t want it to get easier. He wants it to go away.

When the beeping from the heart monitor slows enough, Jack opens his eyes to see if there's any improvement. But everything is still dark.

Fuck.

Fucking Gabe.

His mind wanders to Petras’ debrief yesterday, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. They were definitely set up. Someone knew they were coming. And all the signs, from this mission and even from ones in the past, point towards a mole on the inside. Someone double crossed them.

And, according to Petras and some lawyer that he had with him, all the evidence leads to Gabriel fucking Reyes being the double agent.

Yesterday, Jack couldn't believe it. Now…

Jack tries to calm himself, listening for his electronic babysitter to slow before he tries to unpack that thought.

He pushes past his initial disbelief.

Is it possible?

Jack has to admit, reluctantly, that is a maybe.

A few months or a year ago Jack would have said no. Hell no. Gabe would never sell out his team. He would never lead them into a goddamn death trap. He would never set them all up to be killed. The man cared too much about his team. Took every death and every injury too personally. Tried to come up with the safest plans and rock solid Plan B’s for when things went to shit.

But Gabe's been distracted lately. And gone more than usual. His ideas in mission planning had been turning volatile in retrospect, and his disagreements with Petras more frequent and violently adamant.

Jack’d just assumed something was going on back home. Gabe has never been talkative about it, keeping his life here and his family there separate. Even from Jack.

But in light of this, was he wrong?

Is Gabe’s family even real? Or was it some kind of cover?

Someone had set them up, and Gabe knew all the details. One of the few that did. They kept most of the squad in the dark as much as possible, as a matter of procedure. Minimize the number of people that know exactly when and where they’ll strike before they leave.

No one knew except Jack, Gabe, and a few of the upper command.

And the finalized plan remained mostly unchanged from Gabe's initial sessions with Petras. Before he removed the man and put Jack in charge.

Jack never thought to change those details. Or keep anything from Gabe. Jack trusted him that much.

And that might have cost him his sight.

And most of their squad their lives.

Jack hears the heart monitor speed up again and tries to calm himself. He just wants out of this damn hospital bed. He has no idea what he's going to do with fucked up vision, but he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

When his pulse slows again, Jack focus back on Gabe. 

He thinks about the increase in Gabe’s phone calls and emails on that stupid smart phone. He thinks about the late night absences, when there was no reason for it. All the times he’s shied away from Jack lately. The phone conversations in Spanish that cut off whenever anyone came near.

Almost like he was pulling away for a reason.

A pile of individual things that alone mean nothing. Together, they could still mean nothing. But in the wake of the explosion, Jack is having trouble seeing them in any other light than sinister. 

It would make a disturbing amount of sense. How else could Los Muertos know that they were coming? They’d had no agents on the inside this time, no one for the gang to make and interrogate. And their intel had come from a defector, one that hadn’t had any contact with the gang after leaving. Los Muertos should have had no idea. 

It had to be someone on the inside on their end. And the list of people who knew enough to set them up that badly is very short. One name stands out.

Jack’s heart aches as the knife of cold hard information twists deeper and all hope he’d had for their future goes up in flames, leaving bitter ash in his throat.

He doesn't want to believe it. But he can't figure out any other way to make this whole mess make sense.

 

**September 20, 2011**  
Gabe comes to with fire sparking over his entire body. Every nerve ending screams at him. He can't move. He can barely breathe. The pain is overwhelming.

But he's alive. He clings to that and fights to hold onto consciousness.

“Good. You're awake,” Petras’ voice rings out, making his ears throb. “I was hoping cutting the pain meds down would do it. You’ve been out for days. And we need to talk.”

Gabe braces himself and opens his eyes. His head starts pounding as soon as the light hits him, so he clamps them back closed. He takes a few deep breathes before he tries to open them again. This time, he pushes through the instant pain and succeeds. He still has to blink several times before he can make out the figures in the doorway.

Sure enough, Petras is standing there with someone else. Gabe can't get a good enough look to place the second man. But there's enough of a shine off of what must be metal attached to his uniform that he must be someone high ranking. And an outsider.

No one on base wears a dress uniform. If he’s even in the base hospital. He can’t be sure. The last thing he remembers is trying to breathe as chunks of brick piled onto his head, lungs choked by dust and smoke. The terror induced by the weight pinning him down, that he didn’t expect to make it out.

Then, there was darkness as he was fully buried. And enough time to realize that they were set up, that Jack walked them into a fucking trap, before unconsciousness overtook him. 

Gabe drops his head back onto the pillow on his bed, exhausted already.

“I can't figure out how you did it,” Petras snaps. Gabe struggles to stay awake and listen to his rant. “But I'm sure it was you. No other explanation. I just can't prove it. At least, not yet.”

He must be talking about the mission. Gabe doesn't know how the hell it went wrong. But the flash point is blindingly clear, even to his foggy brain. The revised route. It must have been a fucking trap.

Damn Jack. Part of commanding a squad is considering all the angles, and prioritizing what’s best for the team. He should have seen this coming, should have taken them in another way no matter what the brass said. The strike was too easy. They’d been fish in the fucking barrel. But Gabe had been shut down hard when he tried to argue the potential and Morrison hadn’t fought at all. And now they’re paying the price.

Petras keeps talking before Gabe’s drug-addled mind can process a reply. “This is Major Burns, JAG.” Gabe blinks trying to focus on the person with Petras and failing. “He’s been investigating this screw up. Talking to the team, or at least what’s left of them. Looking over the details. Finding out who is responsible for it. I told him it was you, but legalities must be respected, I suppose.”

The Major steps further into the room, coming close enough to Gabe’s bed that he can finally make out the oak leaves on the man’s uniform. “Here is where we stand. We know the leak came from the inside. Everyone from Petras down to the newest Blackwatch recruit is telling me that it has to be you. But you see, we can’t prove that. Yet.”

Gabe swallows roughly. His team thinks he betrayed them. At least those left alive. He wants to ask who’s left. He needs to know who died in the explosion. López? Medina? Jack?

But he can’t make himself ask. He’s not sure that it even matters. They are either dead or they believe the worst of him. Does it really matter which? He’s spent years with most of those guys, thought of them as family. And yet they’re all so ready to point the finger at him, to believe he could sell them out. Even Jack whose trust and judgment Gabe thought he could have counted on. But maybe that was Gabe’s biggest mistake after all.

He tries to muster up the energy to be angry about that. 

And just can’t.

Burns keeps talking, cutting off Gabe’s train of thought. “I’m sure that we could get there eventually. Lucky for you though, the brass wants this dealt with quickly and quietly.” Burns pulls a piece of paper out of his briefcase. “This is a general discharge.”

“It’s not the dishonorable one that you deserve,” Petras growls. Gabe doesn’t look up from the paper the lawyer set in front of him. He’s having a hard enough time concentrating trying to see the words on the page. “But this will get you out before you can kill off what little of the team is left.”

“Sign this.” The lawyer drops a pen on the papers. 

“What grounds?” Gabe finally gets his voice to cooperate, even if it is unrecognizable at the moment.

Petras laughs harshly. “You have to ask?” He stalks over to Gabe’s bedside and sits on the chair, back straight and nose in the air. “Behavioral issues. The list is there for your perusal. We gave you a lot of rope because you got results, but this is the end. I'm not going to keep you around just for you to get more people killed.” Petras lowers his chin to pin Gabe with a glare. “I can't prove you were the mole at the moment. But if you fight this, I will. Then you're looking at jail. Sign or not. Your decision, Reyes.”

Gabe knows he didn't sell out his team. He knows he didn't cause this. But that doesn't mean Petras and Burns can't manufacture evidence against him given enough time. He doesn’t like his odds of fighting it. Especially since it sounds like it’s him against everyone left alive.

And if his entire team is against him, is there really any point of fighting it?

He’s done enough research to know that a General Discharge is likely the best of his bad options here. Everything else would almost certainly include prison time. The odds of him clearing his name seem very, very small right now. Especially if he has to do it alone.

And Gabe’s not sure that it is worth the effort. He wants out anyway. This gets him out. So what if one of his major reasons for getting out no longer exists.

With his team thinking he’s the mole. With Jack, if he’s even still alive, thinking he turned against them all…

It doesn’t matter anymore. He needs to get out, get home, get away from all of this. And apparently start his entire life over. Nothing here matters anymore. He can’t let it.

Gabe struggles to sit up enough to see the paper. He signs with a shaking hand. His signature isn’t even recognizable.

Better to take his freedom and get out.

Strength sapped by that small act, Gabe falls back onto the bed. His entire body screams in pain. Burns snaps the paper up as soon as he’s done, shoving it back into his briefcase and stalking out of the room.

“Goodbye, Reyes. Have a good life. I hope to never see your lying ass again.” Petras looks around Gabe's hospital room as he gets to his feet. “We'll get you transferred somewhere more suitable to your new status.” Petras pauses in the doorway. “This is your copy.” He tosses a pack of papers onto the rumpled bed sheet and departs without another word.

Gabe stares at the date on the page and wants to laugh at the fucking irony of it all. September 20, 2011. DADT is officially repealed, something he’d hoped would change his life. And his entire life has changed. Just not in the way he was hoping for.

Exhausted, body aching at every breath, and mind unable to take it all anymore, he closes his eyes to avoid the paper that lays on his chest and mocks him. 

Gabe welcomes the darkness that overtakes him. Unconsciousness is preferable to the thought that this is all because of a man he loved, that he thought loved him.


End file.
